


Non Voglio

by majorleeobvious



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Human Names Used, Implied Recreational Drug Use, KARAOKE CONTEST, M/M, Serenading, Shirts are overrated, Underage Drinking, absolutely decadent swimming pool bought with bake sale money, bird-related metaphors, cliched puking in bushes, emma knows all, foreign currency, frat party, gil's jungle juice, hella sexual tension courtesy of fruk, liz's amazing photography skills, lovi and feliks are bffls, lovi is a potty mouth, lovi is a very overprotective big brother, lovi is competitive as fuck, party like its the mid 2000s, questionable business practices, running from your problems like a pro, sexually charged performances, sneaky gilbird is sneaky, stretching before any physical activity is very important, the party hasn’t really started until Gil goes shirtless and Francis loses his pants, tono is way too smooth, tono just wants to help, tragic backstory courtesy of lovi, vash yodels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5293952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorleeobvious/pseuds/majorleeobvious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragged to a party he had no interest in going to, Lovino Vargas will find nothing he was looking for, but everything that he needed.<br/>A prequel to "The Rhythm of Freedom".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perché.

**Author's Note:**

> as you may well be aware, this fic is a prequel to "The rhythm of freedom" written by my bffl and partner in fandom-related crime, Sgt.CoolWhip and i strongly suggest reading that first so that the shit going on here makes a bit more sense. if you already have read it, then hello, im majorleeobvious. i was the one that helped Sgt with the italian bits and such. basically, i got dragged into this madness along the way and demanded a spamano story to go along with it (because poor antonio got all of like 3 lines in TROF), but since Sgt claims that she is not capable of writing the fluff that spamano requires, she relinquished the reigns to me and let me do with it as i wished. so then "non voglio" happened.  
> anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this fic as much as you did TROF (especially considering she and i write very differently), and that it meets your standards. 
> 
> *things in italics are spoken in another language. translations available at the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you may well be aware, this fic is a prequel to "The rhythm of freedom" written by my bffl and partner in fandom-related crime, Sgt.CoolWhip and i strongly suggest reading that first so that the shit going on here makes a bit more sense. if you already have read it, then hello, im majorleeobvious. i was the one that helped Sgt with the italian bits and such. basically, i got dragged into this madness along the way and demanded a spamano story to go along with it (because poor antonio got all of like 3 lines in TROF), but since Sgt claims that she is not capable of writing the fluff that spamano requires, she relinquished the reigns to me and let me do with it as i wished. so then "non voglio" happened.  
> anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this fic as much as you did TROF (especially considering she and i write very differently), and that it meets your standards.
> 
> *things in italics are spoken in another language. translations available at the end

“You know, there’s a word for this, it’s called betrayal.”

Lovino curled his lip in distaste as he stared at the large golden letters hanging over the open doorway. Pi Rho Omega.

A somewhat apologetic voice spoke next to him. “ _Mi dispiace_ Lovi, but if I had told you where we were really coming there was no way you would’ve agreed to come.”

Turning to glare at his traitor of a little brother, Lovino’s amber eyes narrowed. “Why the fuck are we even here?”

A warm arm linked with his and pulled him up the stone steps. “Because Gilbert made me promise that I would bring you no matter what.”

“ _Porca miseria_.” Lovino ran a hand through his chestnut brown hair in frustration. “Feli, I thought I told you to stop talking to that potato bastard.”

They stopped walking and large honey colored eyes turned and looked into sharp amber ones. Not for the first time, Lovino absently wondered how that hell people managed to confuse him and Feliciano for each other when they couldn’t be more different. They were fraternal twins, not identical.

Feliciano pouted. “But Gilbert is really nice and Roderick—“

“—hates his guts” finished Lovino for him. “And nice is the very last word anyone would ever use to describe that menace to society. Just because he’s been trying to fuck our RA for the past year doesn’t mean we have to associate with him.”

“But I thought you were friends.”

“Hell no!” cried Lovino, personally offended his own brother would think such a thing. “He was my Intro to Chem TA last semester and I may have established a mutually beneficial arrangement with him where I would sign him into our dorm if he agreed to look the other way when I was late to class or fell asleep during lecture, but we sure as fuck aren’t friends.”

Just as Feliciano opened his mouth to say something else, a loud cry of “ _blizniaki_!” followed by the quick clicking of heels cut him off.

Lovino sighed in fond exasperation. “ _Ecco la bionda_.”

Moving with all the grace and ease of a mountain goat on a steep cliffside, a familiar blonde hopped up the stairs and stopped in front of the twins.

“ _Ciao_ Feliks!” cried Feliciano, eagerly hugging the newcomer.

“ _Cześć kochaine_ ” said the blonde, kissing him on both cheeks in greeting before turning to Lovino. “And you. I thought you said you weren’t coming, _kurwa_.”

“I’m not exactly here by choice” said Lovino, glaring over at an entirely too smug Feliciano.

Now that Feliks had arrived there was no way in hell and a half he was going to be able to make a run for it—the blonde could move faster in stilettos than most people could in running shoes.

“Well, whatever. You’re here now so like, c’mon.” Sliding between the twins and taking their hands, Feliks tugged them towards the open door. “Let’s go get totally shitfaced!”

Inside was…loud. In every conceivable definition of the word.

“Jesus fucking Christ” sneered Lovino. “It’s even worse than I thought.”

Across the hallway from the front door was a large common room. The thumping bass of a foreign song—something repetitive and eurotrashy—vibrated through the walls, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There where brightly dressed people everywhere dry humping along to the music, drinking from alarmingly fluorescent colored plastic cups, and just standing around and obstructing foot traffic. The smell of sweat, hormones, and alcohol hung so thick in the air you could almost taste it. It was a frighteningly thorough frontal assault on all five senses.

“Like, oh my god. It’s Toris” squealed Feliks, clinging to Lovino’s sleeve. “ _Ja pierdole_ , he looks like, so totally delicious.”

Lovino rolled his eyes. Toris Laurinaitis was the guy that lived in the dorm room across the hall from the Vargas twins. They both liked him well enough; the guy was quiet and polite, albeit kind of jumpy. He had shoulder-length cinnamon brown hair, wide grass green eyes, and a pleasant face, but in Lovino’s opinion, Toris wasn’t anything to get your panties in a twist over, so he didn’t really understand why Feliks was so infatuated with him. More baffling still was how the blonde kept coming up with ridiculously elaborate schemes to “casually run into” the guy—only to say like, two words to him before running away and hiding—instead of just straight up asking him out. For all that Feliks was confident and a shameless flirt, he was a hot mess in the face of genuine attraction.

“You’re fucking tragic, _bionda_ ” said Lovino, holding back an amused smile.

“ _Spierdalaj_ ” muttered the blonde, still staring intently at Toris.

“Ve, you should go ask him to dance!” suggested Feliciano, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Feli, you’re like, a fucking genius” said Feliks. He turned and grabbed Lovino by the biceps. “Quick, how do I look?”

Amber eyes glanced at the black patent leather stilettos, the white thigh-highs with the lacy trim, the black high-waisted sequined shorts, the black and white striped halter top, the glittery scrunchie that held Feliks’ hair in a tight ponytail, and the perfectly done winged eyeliner that made his emerald green eyes look even more vibrant.

“Like an amateur drag queen that just broke out of jail” said Lovino with a smirk.

“ _Ty dziwko_ ” said the blonde, planting his hands on his hips. “I’m like, wearing the frat’s colors, okay?”

“Is that why you’re not wearing the shoes I got you for your birthday?” asked Lovino, raising an eyebrow.

“Um, duh” said Feliks with a roll of his eyes. “I fucking love my 5 inch spikes but like, they totally don’t match this outfit.”

“Well, whatever. You look great anyway, _allora vattene_ ” said Lovino, making a little shooing motion with his hands.

“What? No! I need to like, come up with a plan first!” cried the blonde, clinging to the Italian’s sleeves. 

Lovino smacked his hands away. “ _Vuoi un piano_? _Ecco un piano_ , walk the fuck over there and ask the jittery bastard to dance. If he says no—which I sincerely doubt he will—make that dumb pouty face of yours until he gives in. If he says he can’t because he doesn’t know how, you smile, you take his hand, and you tell him you’d be happy to teach him how. If he says yes, you drag that fucker onto the dance floor, you press your perky little Polish ass against his crotch, and you rub up against him until you’re both compromising the structural integrity of your shorts!”

Feliks, only half listening, chewed on his thumbnail—a nervous habit. “I can’t just like, go up to him for no reason.”

“But you have a reason, you’re asking him to dance” said Feliciano, brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

“Don’t waste your breath, Feli. He’s not listening” said Lovino. “It’s impossible to try and talk sense into him when he gets like this _. È come parlare con un muro_.”

“Come with me” said Feliks, looking at the twins imploringly.

“No bitch” said Lovino, crossing his arms. “Put on your big boy panties and go over there or so help me pasta I will post that picture of you in sweatpants on Facebook.”

The blonde gasped and stared at him in horror. “You wouldn’t.”

Lovino met his eyes evenly and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna bet?”

Feliks’ face scrunched up in distress and he held the sharp amber gaze for only a moment before turning away in a huff. “ _Tak bardzo Cie nienawidze_.”

Lovino smiled. “ _Anch’io ti voglio bene, bionda_. Now go.”

Taking a deep breath, Feliks rolled his shoulders back before strutting over to the other side of the room.

“Well, there goes my good deed for the day” said the elder Vargas twin, sliding back towards the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me—“

Linking their arms once more, Feliciano tugged him deeper into the frat house. “C’mon _fratello_ , let’s go see who else is here!”

Lovino sighed in resignation and allowed himself to be pulled along. Really, he should know better than to think his little brother would let him get away that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:  
> -lovi and feliks are totes bffls and you cannot convince me otherwise (and yes, it was lovi that bought feliks the infamous spikes that appear in TROF)  
> -feli and lovi are freshmen, feliks and toris are sophmores, roderick is a senior (and feli, lovi, and toris' Resident Assistant), and gilbert is a grad student (and feliks and lovi's Teaching Assistant for their Chem 101 class)  
> -feli and lovi dorm together  
> -i have a penchant for making characters giant tragic dorks
> 
> translations:  
> -mi dispiace: (ita) i'm sorry, forgive me  
> -porca miseria: (ita) damnit  
> -blizniaki: (pol) twins  
> -ecco la bionda: (ita) here's the blonde  
> -ciao: (ita) hi  
> -czesc kochanie: (pol) hello sweetheart  
> -kurwa: (pol) bitch  
> -ja pierdole: (pol) oh fuck  
> -Spierdalaj: (pol) fuck off  
> -ty dzinko: (pol) you bitch  
> -allora vattene: (ita) now leave  
> -vuoi un piano? ecco un piano: (ita) you want a plan? here's a plan  
> -e come parlare con un muro: (ita) it's like talking with a wall  
> -tak bardzo Cie nienawidze: (pol) i hate you so much  
> -anch'io ti voglio bene, bionda: (ita) i love you too, blondie  
> -fratello: (ita) brother
> 
> also:  
> "non voglio" means "i dont want to" in italian, and "perché" means "why." so yeah, there's the first chapter of that. if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or anything of the like, please feel free to drop a review (i live off those things)  
> see y'all next thursday ;3


	2. der Köning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> behold, new charas introduced. aw yis, it's about to start getting a lot more fun~

Pi Rho Omega had started out as a small fraternity—often overlooked and forgotten—but in the span of just a few years it had reached a level of infamous prestige so high that no other Greek life organization in the state could touch it, and it was all thanks to a single man. Lovino had only ever been in the so-called “King’s Palace” once before—rush week had been a very special kind of hell—and it had been enough for him to avoid anything frat-related like the plague.

 Even so, it was impossible not to be privy to the misadventures of the Pi Rho Omega boys and their illustrious leader.

“ _Meine kleine Spatzen_!”

Lovino felt himself visibly cringe. “ _Cazzo.”_

Like the Red Sea parting before Moses, the masses of people around them automatically shifted and cleared a path to let someone through. An ornate golden crown sat at a rakish angle on a messy, white haired head, and scarlet eyes shone bright with manic excitement.

Feliciano waved enthusiastically. “ _Ciao_ Gilbert!”

“We aren’t birds, nor are we ‘yours’ in any way, shape or form, so stop calling us that” said Lovino with a scowl he reserved especially for annoying potato bastards.

“Aww, but it’s an awesome pet name that the awesome me came up with just for you two” said Gilbert with a pout.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Lovino tugged his little brother back towards the hallway.

 Before they could get too far, Gilbert wiggled between them and swung a pale arm over each of their shoulders. “ _Willkommen_ to our little get together” he said, leisurely leading them through the crowds. “Have you been here long?”

“Just a few minutes” said Feliciano.

“A few minutes too long” muttered Lovino, smacking off Gilbert’s arm.

“Aw, you should’ve let me know as soon as you got here!”

A pale hand slipped onto Lovino’s upper arm. The grip was relaxed, but firm—clearly there for Gilbert to keep him from making a run for it. It made the elder Vargas boy extremely suspicious as to why the annoying German was so vehement on his and Feliciano’s attendance. Before he could confront him however, Gilbert pulled them into the communal kitchen, or rather, what Lovino assumed was the kitchen since every available surface was covered with enough alcohol to make a liquor store jealous.

“ _Madonna_.”  Lovino wasn’t sure if he was impressed or appalled.

“Some drinks for _mein kleine Spatzen_!” called out Gilbert, tugging the twins towards the middle of the kitchen where an enormous glass bowl was filled with a disturbingly radioactive-colored green liquid.

“ _Che cazzo è quello_?” asked Lovino, wishing he had a hazmat suit.

Warm breath ghosted past his left ear. “Ohon, that is the _pièce de résistance, mon petit piaf_.”

Lovino clamped a hand over his ear and whirled around. Amused, sapphire blue eyes partially obscured by long strands of golden blonde hair stared back at him.

“Hands off, Francis” said Gilbert, waving the blonde away. “Don’t scare away my freshmen.”

“First off” said Lovino, feeling his face redden in equal parts embarrassment and anger. “Like I said before, we are not ‘your’ anything. And second” he turned to the man on his left. “I am definitely not ‘your little sparrow’ so I suggest you stop calling me that if you plan on having children in the future.”

Before he could make good on his threat, a cup full of the nuclear waste from the punchbowl appeared in front of him and Lovino could feel the inside of his nose burn just from the smell.

“ _Figlio di puttana_ , are you trying to give me radiation poisoning?!” cried Lovino, suppressing a cough.

“Pff, no. if I wanted to do that I’d just feed you some of Arthur’s ‘scones’” said Gilbert, putting heavy air quotes around the last word.

Just as Lovino was about to ask what the fuck he was talking about, something lumpy and black sailed past his head. As if expecting it, Gilbert ducked before it could hit him in the face. Instead, the mysterious blackened mass knocked off his crown—which he just barely managed to catch before it hit the ground—and collided with the wall behind him, making the most bizarre sound Lovino had ever heard. Something like a combination of crunching gravel and the squish chunky vomit makes when you accidentally step on it.

“See if I cook you anything ever again, you ungrateful sack of dog shite!”

Gilbert sighed and readjusted his crown. “I’ll hold you to that, _Lerche_.”

An angry-looking blonde man with the largest eyebrows Lovino had ever seen came stomping over, moss green eyes glaring in disdain. Snatching the cup of radioactive liquid in Gilbert’s hand, he downed it in one gulp, not so much as blinking at the taste. “Fuck you.”

“Ohon, charming as ever, Arthur” said Francis.

The newcomer stiffened and glanced over, but before he could respond, green eyes met amber and his expression relaxed into something much more friendlily. “Oh, hello Lovino. Lovely to see you again. How have you been?”

A twitch ran through Lovino’s leg and he struggled to smile. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Arthur—on the contrary, their similarly volatile tempers and penchants for creative insults actually helped them get along very well—it was just that he reminded him of things. Things Lovino had spent over a year trying to forget. “Nice to see you too, Arthur. I’ve been well.”

Gilbert’s face lit up. “Oh, you two know each other?”

“Well, yes” said Arthur. “Lovino was—“

“So what the hell is the green shit in the bowl?” Lovino cut him off sharply. As much as he liked Arthur, he really didn’t want to be reminded of who he was before. The person Lovino used to be was long gone and he was never coming back—that much had been made clear enough.

Arthur’s face softened slightly in understanding, but he said nothing more. Lovino thanked him silently.

“Kesesese, I call it ‘King of the Jungle’” said Gilbert, seemingly unaware of the deliberate change in topic. “It’s _mein_ own awesome secret blend of jungle juice.”

“It’s horribly weak” said Arthur, staring into his cup in disappointment. “Although I must say, it’s rather impressive how you managed to make it this color. Most jungle juice I’ve come across is some variation of red.”

“It’s actually stronger than I’d care to admit, mostly because it’s probably over some legal limit” said Gilbert, refilling Arthur’s cup. “Besides, the best jungle juice is the kind that doesn’t let you feel how drunk you are until you wake up naked and handcuffed to a forklift in the middle of an IKEA the next morning.” He held up the newly filled cup to the light, making it look even more radioactive. “As for the color, everyone seems to forget I am a chemistry genius. This sort of thing is child’s play for the awesome me, _Lerche_.”

Arthur took the cup and rolled his eyes, but only sipped from it instead of throwing it back in one shot like with the first one. “Stop calling me that, I’m not a bloody lark.”

“But it fits you so well” said Francis, something challenging and the slightest bit predatory dancing in his eyes. “Not much to look at, and with a voice that’s fairly pleasant at first, but starts grating on the nerves after listening to it for a while.”

Lovino stepped back as Francis started to slink towards Arthur, and the air became heavy with something he was almost afraid to try and identify.

“However” continued the Frenchman, stopping right in front of the shorter blonde. “If you know how to prepare it properly, lark can be quite…delicious.”

Arthur took another sip of his drink; cheeks slightly flushed with what could’ve been embarrassment, but was most likely the alcohol catching up to him. “I pity whatever poor creature you end up eating then. What an absolutely dreadful way to go.”

“I must disagree” said Francis, lips curling into a sultry smirk. “There are entire flocks of birds that would be thrilled with the chance to grace my palate.”

“Well then” said Arthur, sliding past him. “Better grab your shotgun and take aim, frog face.” Throwing one last quick glance back over his shoulder, he left the kitchen.

Francis pushed his hair back away from his face and licked his bottom lip. “Let the hunt begin.”

Lovino watched the blondes leave the kitchen in relief. “Fucking shit, _loro sono sempre così_?”

Gilbert hummed noncommittally, staring off into the direction they had gone, brow furrowed slightly. It was the same face he made when he was trying to solve a complicated chemistry equation—one of the very few instances Lovino had ever seen the older man show even the slightest semblance of seriousness. However, just as quickly as it had appeared, it was replaced by Gilbert’s usual overly excited expression. “So, what’re you having, _mein kleiner Spatz_?”

Lovino pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _Vino_.”

“What kind?”

“Any kind is fine, as long as it isn’t fucking French.”

Gilbert grinned. “Right this way.”

As the older man led him out of the kitchen, Lovino couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had forgotten something very important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:  
> -although gil graduated already, he is still considered the leader of the frat. so much so, that all the underlings refer to him as der Köning (the king, in German), hence the title of this chapter. they got him the crown as a graduation gift and he wears it unironically.  
> -gil has nicknames for all the "birds" in his "flock" (see translations below) so prepare yourselves for hella bird metaphors  
> -arthur and francis are seniors  
> -lovi knows arthur from before (*waves hands dramatically*)  
> -lovi has met francis once or twice prior to the party and tries to avoid running into him at all costs  
> -gil's jungle juice contains a hefty amount of the mysterious alcohol from TROF  
> -i came up with the whole IKEA bit and sgt. loved it so much she added it to TROF (see: al's first experience with the mystery booze)  
> -at this point in time, arthur and francis have been dancing around (pun intended) their sexual tension for years   
> -whether or not it is resolved soon remains to be seen (*cough*ficbysgtcomingsoon*cough*) 
> 
> translations:  
> -meine kleine Spatzen: (ger) my little sparrows  
> -cazzo: (ita) fuck  
> -ciao: (ita) hi/hello  
> -willkommen: (ger) welcome  
> -madonna: (ita) virgin mary [an english equivalent to this would be like when people say "jesus" as an expression of disbelief, awe, or surprise]  
> -che cazzo è quello?: (ita) what the fuck is that?  
> -pièce de résistance: (fre) [it's a phrase used in english too]  
> -mon petit piaf: (fre) my little sparrow  
> -figlio di puttana: (ita) son of a whore [son of a bitch]  
> -Lerche: (ger) lark  
> -loro sono sempre così?: (ita) are they always like that?  
> -mein kleiner Spatz: (ger) my little sparrow  
> -vino: (ita) wine
> 
> also:  
> -as implied by the name of this collection of fics and the very end of TROF, gil is the mastermind behind everything that happens, so whenever he makes his serious, chem equation solving face, it means that either: he just got an idea or something is not going according to plan. so yeah, pay attention to that.   
> -i am fluent in english and spanish, and fairly proficient in italian, so any other language that makes an appearance here comes courtesy of internet translations. if you are fluent in said other language and notice i made a mistake, please let me know! i want to make sure these idiots are speaking properly  
> -sgt coolwhip and i have come up with so many headcanons for this au that we often lose track of what we integrate into the stories and what we dont, so if you have any questions please leave a review!   
> -IM ALWAYS A SLUT FOR REVIEWS


	3. La Piscina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more characters, more alcohol, and more death threats. oh my!

“You guys have a fucking pool?!”

“Kesese, of course we do” said Gilbert, chest swelling up with pride. “The boys worked hard to raise the money for it.”

Lovino gaped at him. “This is a fucking heated, in ground swimming pool with Pi Rho Omega spelled out in gold tiles on the bottom and what is clearly a saltwater attachment so you can swim in it in the winter. Not to mention the built-in hot tub on the side. How in the fuck did you guys manage to raise enough money for it?”

Gilbert shrugged as he led him towards the large patio on the other end of the pool. “We had a bake sale.”

“...a bake sale.”

“ _Ja_. Cookies, brownies, cakes, pies; you know, the usual kind of things.”

Lovino stared at him through narrowed eyes. “You raised roughly 3 years’ worth of tuition money selling pastries.”

“It’s because he laced everything with pot.”

Elegantly perched on the end of the patio’s bar top sat a familiar figure, sipping from a fancy goblet full of wine.

“Roderick?” said Lovino, staring at his old RA in shock.

“We didn’t lace everything” said Gilbert, ducking behind the bar. “The rice crispy treats were clean.”

“Because you ran out of pot by the time you made them.” Roderick swirled his wine and took a sip.

A bottle thunked down on the bar top and Gilbert’s white haired head popped up after it. “Technicality. Lars could only get me so much at a time and we had already gone over budget. It was quality stuff though so I can’t complain”

Lovino waved a hand to catch their attention. “As horrifying as your drug dealing story is, I’m still kind of stuck on the fact that Roderick seems to be here willingly.”

“Of course he is” said Gilbert, polishing an embossed wine glass. “ _Mein Singvogel_ wouldn’t miss one of our parties for the world.”

“No, I’d miss them for much less” corrected Roderick. “Including, but not limited to: a sale on toilet paper, free samples at the grocery store, and reruns of Extreme Couponing.”

“But I thought you hated him” said Lovino, amber eyes wide with disbelief.

“Aw what?” said Gilbert, turning to Roderick. “We haven’t had hate sex in months though!”

“Keep divulging our bedroom activities to the underclassmen and that will change rather quickly.” Roderick was smiling pleasantly, but his violet eyes screamed murder.

“Okay, no. Ew. _Basta_ ” said Lovino, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing his temples.

“Here you go, _mein kleiner Spatz_ ” said Gilbert, pushing a glass full of red wine across the bar top. “ _Prost_!”

Lovino took a quick sniff before downing the glass and signaling for more. “Salice Salentino, right?”

Gilbert grinned. “ _Ja. Gut gemacht_! Then again, I wouldn’t expect any less from my favorite little Italian.” 

Lovino rolled his eyes. “Please. We both know Feli is your favorite.”

“Speaking of Feliciano” said Roderick. “Did he stay back at the room?”

“No, why?” asked Lovino, taking another drink from his wine glass.

“Well, both of you are usually attached at the hip, so it’s rather odd to see you by yourself.”

Lovino choked. He had forgotten his little brother. “ _Merda per merda_.”

Roderick handed him a handkerchief. “ _Entschuldige_ , I should’ve probably waited until you were done drinking to ask.”

Furiously wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the elder Vargas twin set the glass back down on the bar top. “I have to go look for him.”

“Now now, calm down, Lovi” said Gilbert, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Feli is a big boy, I’m sure he’s fine.”

Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion stared into increasingly shifty-looking scarlet ones. “Did you see when he left?”

“No, I didn’t” assured the white haired man. “But if you’re still worried you should text him. I’m sure he’s still somewhere in the house.”

Lovino quickly pulled out his phone and composed his little brother a very strongly worded message detailing exactly what was going to happen to him once the elder twin found him. Even so, Lovino was convinced the potato bastard had something to do with the whole situation.

Considering the increasingly dangerous look in Roderick’s eyes, Lovino wasn’t the only one. “Gilbert, may I speak to you a moment?”

Scarlet eyes scanned the perimeter of the pool, clearly searching for something. “Sure.”

Roderick set down his goblet of wine. “Privately, Gilbert.”

“Just a sec, _mein Singvogel_ ” said the white haired man, glancing at his watch.

Gracefully sliding off the bar top, Roderick looked over his shoulder at Gilbert. “J _etzt, Liebling_.”

Almost immediately, Gilbert straightened up and followed after him. Lovino marveled at the action, faintly wondering what punishment the German term of endearment incurred to make Gilbert turn so pale--quite an achievement considering the red eyed man was already as pasty white as they came. In the back of his mind, Lovino also wondered how long his old TA and his old RA had been together--since Gilbert had made fairly clear that they were, at the very least, fucking on a regular basis--but he quickly pushed those thoughts away as soon as they came because gross, that was definitely not an image he needed in his head.

With a cringing shudder, Lovino picked his wine glass back up and threw back what was left. Say what he would about Gilbert, but the annoying bastard knew how to pick a good wine. Reaching for the bottle to pour himself some more--then deciding against it and just taking the entire bottle for himself--Lovino surveyed the perimeter of the pool. Surrounding the pool itself was a wide cobbled walkway dotted with lawn chairs and sunbeds here and there. Off to the side was a large bin full of what looked to be pool noodles and other such water toys. At both ends there was also a small cabinet-looking thing that Lovino quickly identified as towel warmers.

“It’s amazing the things drug money can buy” he mused, taking a sip from the bottle. Relishing the rich, fruity taste, Lovino sighed and contemplated what to do next. He definitely had to look for his idiot brother, but he had no idea where to start. It wasn’t so much that the elder Vargas twin was worried about Feliciano, it was more like he was pissed the little shit had dragged him to the damn party against his will, only to ditch him not half an hour after they had arrived. Lovino could easily just leave and wait for Feliciano to arrive back at the dorm to curse him out, but his overprotective big brother instincts wouldn’t let him. Okay, so maybe the elder Vargas twin was a little worried. Feliciano was a good drinker--arguably better than Lovino considering he didn’t wake up the next morning with a headache the size of Mount Vesuvius--but he was kind of airheaded by nature, so he tended to get into trouble even when he wasn’t drunk. Trouble that, more often than not, Lovino had to get him out of.

With a long suffering sigh, he pushed away from the bar top and made his way back towards the frat house.

“Loviiiinooooo!”

The elder Vargas twin stopped short at the sound of his name being practically sung. A blindingly bright light flashed in his face and left him seeing spots.

“Goddamnit, Elizabeta” he groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“Aw you blinked” said the woman, looking down at her camera. “ _De kár_ , it would’ve been a lovely picture.”

Elizabeta Héderváry was probably the only person on campus that openly hated Gilbert more than Lovino did. He wasn’t sure of the exact details, but from what Lovino understood, it had something to do with Roderick.

Pulling her long, wavy, honey-brown hair back into a ponytail, Elizabeta grinned widely at him. “Call me Liz, Lovi. All my other students do.”

Lovino looked away, ears red, as her tank top stretched snugly across her ample chest. He was gay, not blind. “I’m not one of your students.”

“You may as well be, considering how much time you spend in my class with Feli” she said with a giggle, taking up her camera once more.

Elizabeta was the TA for Feliciano’s photography class. Lovino did spend a fair amount of time in the photography classroom, but that was because his agriculture class always let out early, so he had to wait for Feliciano to be done before they could go to lunch.

“Whatever” he mumbled. “Speaking of my stupid brother, have you seen him? The little _testa di cazzo_ ditched me.”

“Actually, I did” said Elizabeta, forest green eyes sparkling. “He was talking with some underclassmen I didn’t recognize. They might be from one of the neighboring chapters of Pi Rho Omega that King Dumbass invited.”

Lovino’s brow furrowed. While other chapters of the fraternity were neither as big nor as crazy as the one on campus--probably because they weren’t under the direct rule of their so-called “King”--that didn't mean that he trusted them around his brother. “ _Dove lo hai visto_?”

“The game room. Actually, I think I have a picture” she said, looking through her camera. “Yep, here it is. _Néz_.”

Featured in the center of the photograph was a posh-looking poker table covered in all manner of chips--poker, potato, and nacho--and currency from at least 5 different countries--Lovino was sure the stacks of 1€ coins alone outnumbered the poker chips. A bespectacled blonde with a mouth full of food had his hands thrown up in triumph as the other players looked on with expressions ranging from amusement to full-on outrage.

Elizabeta tapped on the upper corner of her camera’s display screen and the image zoomed in. “He’s over here.”

Feliciano was standing in profile, leaning his shoulder against the back wall and speaking to someone not in the picture. What made Lovino practically snatch the camera out of the brunette’s hands wasn't the fact that his little brother had apparently shed the short-sleeve button up shirt he had been wearing earlier and had only left on the thin black tank top he had been wearing underneath. It wasn't even that Feliciano was holding a half-empty bottle of imported German craft beer--though Lovino was definitely having a talk with him about that later because honestly, of all the alcoholic beverages in the immediate vicinity he had chosen a fucking beer? But no, what had the elder Vargas twin practically seething with bloodlust was the way his brother’s hips were canted toward the person off-camera--a man, if the large hand Feliciano was holding was any indication--and the absolutely sinful expression on his face. The normally wide and cheerful honey-colored eyes were heavy lidded and smoldering. In place of Feliciano’s usual overly-friendly and carefree smile was a subtle, but clearly suggestive smirk--not unlike the ones Lovino had seen Francis direct at Arthur earlier.

“ _Puttana di strada_ ” growled the elder Vargas twin through clenched teeth. Who the hell was the bastard that had turned his precious _fratellino_ into a run-of-the-mill thot?

Thrusting the camera back into Elizabeta’s hands, Lovino turned and stormed towards the frat house. He vaguely heard her calling after him, but her voice was drowned out by the angry chant in head going “ _uccidilo, uccidilo, uccidilo_.” It was that same loud chant that prevented him from hearing the splash coming from the pool to his right, so when the tall figure that emerged from it appeared next to him, it scared the shit out of Lovino and caused him to fall back onto his ass.

“ _Ay, lo siento_. I didn’t see you there. Are you alright?”

Lovino’s head whipped up--ready to tell the son of a bitch just where he could shove his concern--and all at once, the burning rage that had been building up inside of him turned into a completely different type of heat. Leaning down towards him and holding out a hand to help him up was a very wet, very hot, very half-naked man.

No, Lovino was not alright. At all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:  
> -pi rho omega isnt exactly the most law abiding frat around (although you probably figured that out already since gil is in charge)  
> -lars knows people in places and is damn good at what he does, which is why everyone that hasnt personally seen him ( which is most people) is convinced that he isnt actually a person, but a group of people that operate under the acronym L.A.R.S.  
> -he likes to keep it that way  
> -at this point in time, gil and rodders have been together for a while, but i'll leave it to sgt. to explain the exact details of their relationship (*cough*ficbysgtcomingsoon*cough*)  
> -as evidenced by the end of TROF, rodders has suspected gilbert of meddling for years, but never had any concrete proof to confront him with  
> -roderick only calls gilbert german terms of endearment when he's mad (or in the middle of having sex, but that's a completely different story)  
> -elizabeta somehow ended up being the unofficial photographer for all of pi rho omega's events, but she still hates gil (she calls him King Dumbass, but gil considers it a term of endearment so it doesnt bother him)  
> -as much as i adore feli, im afraid that last chapter was his last physical appearance in this fic. but fret not for he will return (*waves hands dramatically*)  
> -i wonder who that hand feli was holding belongs to~ (*winkwink*nudgenudge*)  
> -as for the bespectacled blonde that was making a killing at poker, it's exactly who you think it is  
> -and aww yis, everyone's favorite spainiard has finally made his grand entrance
> 
> translations:  
> -ja: (ger) yes  
> -mein Singvogel: (ger) my songbird  
> -basta: (ita) stop  
> -prost: (ger) cheers/enjoy [basically, what you say before drinking something (usually alcoholic)]  
> -Gut gemacht: (ger) good job  
> -merda per merda: (ita) shit shit shit [literal translation is "shit for shit" but its essentially an excamation used when just one "shit" isnt enough]  
> -Entschuldige: (ger) my apoligies  
> -Jetzt, Liebling: (ger) now, darling  
> -de kár: (hun) what a shame  
> -testa di cazzo: (ita) dickhead  
> -Dove lo hai visto?: (ita) where did you see him?  
> -néz: (hun) look  
> -puttana di strada: (ita) street whore  
> -fratellino: (ita) little/younger brother  
> -uccidilo: (ita) kill him  
> -Ay, lo siento: (spa) ah, i'm sorry
> 
> also:  
> -"la piscina" means " the pool" in italian and spanish  
> -i love overprotective big brother lovi so much  
> -chapters will steadily get longer from here on out so look forward to that  
> -again, if anything doesnt make sense, feel welcome to drop me a review and ask!  
> -IM ALWAYS A SLUT FOR REVIEWS


	4. Así comenzó

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> antonio is too smooth, emma knows too much, and lovino is still too sober for this shit.

“Where the fuck did you come from?”

Lovino fought the urge to smack himself in the face. Hard. Of all the things he could’ve said.

The half-naked man didn’t seem to notice and smiled brightly. “I’m sorry I startled you. _Acabo de salir de la piscina_.”

The pool. Of course he had just come out of the pool. The man was soaked; drops of water fell from his chocolate brown hair and landed on his stupidly handsome face. His tan skin glistened and little rivulets of water ran down his chest and abs, highlighting the deliciously tones muscles there. The _pièce de résistance_ , as Francis would say, was definitely how his sopping wet swim trunks just clung to his...shapes.

Not trusting his voice—or his hands for that matter—Lovino quickly stood up and dusted himself off. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

The man’s smile grew cheeky. “ _Gracias_.”

“I didn’t, I mean, I just--” stammered the Italian, feeling his face flush darker by the millisecond.

Pushing his bangs back with one hand, the man laughed. It was an odd, yet delightfully pleasant sound if one cared to notice. Which Lovino did not. Not at all. “Fusososo, don’t worry about it, _yo pienso lo mismo de ti_ ” said the man, accenting the last word with a wink.

His eyes were green. No shade of green in particular, yet every single shade of green Lovino had ever seen, all at the same time. Bright and warm and framed by long, dark lashes that drooped a little around the outer corner of his eyes.

“ _Como te llamas_?”

Lovino blinked. “What?”

The man’s smile grew amused, the dimples in his cheeks becoming more pronounced. “What’s your name?”

“No, I understood the question, I took Spanish in fucking high school” said Lovino, slowly but surely regaining the mental capabilities that had seemingly short circuited with the green eyes man’s appearance. “It was a surprised ‘what’. As in, ‘why the fuck would you want to know?’”

Cocking his head to one side and looking for all the world like a confused puppy, the man paused in thought for a moment before speaking again. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Because Lovino was neither friendly nor polite, so people tended to avoid him. Because he still wasn’t sure if the walking wet dream in front of him was actually real, or some sort of bizarre hallucination caused by whatever was in his wine. Because even if the half-naked man was real—and Lovino was fairly confident in his own looks—he was so far out of his league that there was no way he would bother with an unremarkable mortal such as himself.

Lovino decided to go with the least pathetic sounding of his excuses. “Because I don’t exactly exude ‘friendly’ vibes, so most people tend to avoid me after initial meetings.”

The man stepped a little closer to the Italian and leaned down so that they were face to face, his eyelids lowered slightly. “I’m not most people.”

Green eyes met amber and Lovino felt his cheeks redden under the attentive gaze. “Who are you then?”

Straightening back up and holding out a hand to shake, the man’s expression shifted back to cheerful. “Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, _para servirte_.”

“Lovino Vargas” said the Italian, taking the proffered hand.

Instead of shaking it however, Antonio lifted it up to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. “ _Es un placer_.”

Lovino tried—and failed miserably—not to melt into a puddle of gooey feelings.

“Toñooo!”

A pretty woman with light brown, almost blonde, shoulder-length hair held back with a bright green ribbon hurried towards them and stopped next to Antonio. She was holding a big, fluffy towel, which she promptly dropped on the brunette’s head.

“Gracias, Emma” he said with a chuckle.

Pulling the towel down to rest over his shoulders, Antonio reached into the pocket of his swim trunks and pulled out a small gold necklace with a red pendant.

“Yay, you got it! _Dankjewel_ ” she said, lifting up her ribbon where it tied at the nape of her neck, and turning her back to him. “Help me put it on please?”

“How did you manage to drop it in the middle of the pool anyway?” asked Antonio, carefully unclasping the chain and looping it around her neck.

The woman, Emma, plucked a little yellow feather out of her hair and held it up for him to see. “Gilbird.”

Antonio’s brow furrowed. “He took it?”

“Yep” she said, turning to take the ends of the towel and start drying the brunette’s hair. “And after I shared my waffle with him too.”

Lovino was too busy glaring at Emma to think about what Gilbird’s theft could’ve had to do with whatever his owner was scheming. Who was she to Antonio that she could towel him down without so much as batting an eyelash?

Almost as if reading Lovino’s thoughts, the green eyed man motioned over to him. “Emma, this is Lovino. Lovi, this is my good friend, Emma. We’ve known each other since high school.”

Turning bright, inquisitive, pine green eyes to the Italian, Emma hummed, her mouth curling up into a slightly unnerving Cheshire cat smile. “ _Hallo._ ”

“ _Ciao_ ” said Lovino, fighting the urge to curl in on himself at her probing stare.

“Nice to meet you, Lovino” said the woman. “Are you freshman?”

The way she asked it made the Italian feel like she already knew everything and was just messing with him to watch him squirm.

“Um, yeah” said Lovino, trying to subtly shift the bottle of wine out of sight.

Of course, Emma caught the movement and her expression turned into something that Lovino could only describe as “cat that caught the canary.” “Ah, then you must have been in Gilbert’s Intro to Chem class to have gotten an invite.”

At the mention of the potato bastard, the elder Vargas twin immediately remembered why he had been in such a rush in the first place. He really needed to stop forgetting about Feliciano. “I was. It was nice meeting you, but I have some shit to take care of right now, so if you’ll excuse me.”

Darting around the pair, Lovino managed to see Antonio’s mouth open—presumably to say goodbye—before Emma quickly caught the man by the arm.

“ _Doei_ , Lovino!” she called, waving at him with one hand as the other curled possessively around Antonio’s bicep.

Lovino washed out the sour taste in his mouth with a long drink of wine. He was definitely going to have a bitch of a hangover tomorrow, but for now, he pushed away thoughts of green eyes and dimples and Spanish lisps with the familiar taste of alcohol.

It wasn’t until he was back in the kitchen that Lovino realized that he had no idea where the fuck the game room was, and probably should’ve asked Elizabeta before storming away. Figuring that he was better off finding someone he could ask instead of wandering around aimlessly, Lovino made his way back into the common room.

As soon as he stepped through the threshold, the Italian flinched. There really was no way to brace oneself for the overstimulation of the senses that the common room caused. At least now, the eurotrash music that the DJ had been playing before had been replaced with something a hell of a lot more enjoyable. Not to mention danceable.

[Take your time and feel him out

When he’s a good boy

I mean a really, really good boy

Why not let him play with you

That’s when you give it to him good]

Lovino took another swig of wine—hell, he hadn’t heard that song since sometime back in middle school—before a blur of sparkles and stripes nearly made it go down the wrong pipe.

“How the fuck.”

In the middle of the crowd was none other than Feliks practically wrapped around a startled—but not unwilling—Toris.

[Dip it low

Pick it up slow

Roll it all around

Poke it out, let your back roll

Pop, pop, pop that thing

Ima show you how to make your man say “Oh”]

His scrunchie had disappeared, letting him flip his wispy blonde hair as he turned and dipped it low. When Feliks picked it up slow, he swung his hips and pressed back into Toris’ groin. Then, seemingly taking Lovino’s advice from earlier, the blonde rolled it all around against said groin. With enviable fluidity, Feliks arched his back in a body roll, popping his ass before straightening up and looping a hand behind the jittery brunette’s neck. Lovino couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit smug when he noticed that Toris’ hands were set firmly on Feliks’ sequined hips, and that he had been definitely returning the favor when the blonde pressed against him. The plan had been a success.

Deciding that it was best to leave them to their own devices, the Italian moved toward the back of the room, looking for someone else he could ask about the location of the game room. About halfway there however, Lovino changed his mind—and direction—when he caught sight of the sinful things going on in those dark corners. Taking a sharp right, he headed instead for the large glass doors that lead out into the back yard. Leaning against the doorjamb was a bored-looking Arthur, absentmindedly drinking from a cup of Gilbert’s radioactive jungle juice.

“Arthur!” called out Lovino, speaking up so he would be heard.

The blonde’s large eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh, hello again Lovino.”

“Hey, do you know where the game room is?” asked the Italian. He knew the Brit wasn’t one to beat around the bush, so he decided to get straight to the point.

“Game room? No, I don’t believe I do” said Arthur. “I try not to spend more time than necessary in the ‘King’s Palace’.”

“ _Nea_ _nch’io_ ” said Lovino, pushing his hair out of his face. All the bodies backed together in the room were creating a ridiculous amount of heat—he could already feel his bangs sticking to his forehead. “Did you get dragged here too?”

“Not exactly” said the blonde, smiling ruefully. “Gilbert always invites me to these things, but I honestly only come for the free booze.”

“I got dragged here by my brother, but the wine is good, so I can’t complain too much” said Lovino, holding up his bottle.

Arthur lifted up his cup and they toasted.

“Cheers.”

“ _Cin-cin.”_

As they both drank, a familiar chorus started to thrum through the speakers.

[Shawty had them Apple Bottom Jeans (jeans)

Boots with the fur (with the fur)

The whole club was lookin' at her

She hit the floor (she hit the floor)

Next thing you know

Shawty got low low low low low low low low]

Arthur laughed. “Oh wow. Vash is really having fun with these throwbacks tonight.”

“Who’s Vash?” asked Lovino.

“The DJ” said the blonde, motioning over to the mini stage at the front of the common room with his chin. “He’s not very friendly, and he’s just this side of insane, but he’s damn good at mixing music.”

The Italian looked over to the stage where a man in a white beret and olive green military jacket with the sleeves cut off bobbed his head to the beat. There was a large red flag pinned to the wall behind him with a white cross spray painted on it, and what looked to be a rifle strapped across his back.

Arthur nudged him with his elbow. “Fancy a dance?”

Lovino turned and stared at him. “What?’

“ _Vuoi ballare_?” asked the Brit with an accent so heavy, the Italian would’ve made fun of him if he wasn’t so busy trying not to let the cacophony of emotions he was feeling show on his face.

“No” said Lovino, entirely too quickly.

Arthur’s face softened and he stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on the younger man’s shoulder—an indicator that the liquor was starting to affect him since the Brit was by no means the touchy-feely type. “I know it’s hard, but it’s been over a year, Lovino. You may not be where you were back then, but that doesn’t mean you had to give up on it altogether.”

The Italian felt his throat tighten, but said nothing, so the blonde continued.

“The department is still hoping you’ll change your mind. They’re serious about the initial offer still being on the table—“

“No!” cried Lovino, pushing off Arthur’s hand and fighting the prickling feeling behind his eyes. He didn’t want a pity spot doing something that brought him pain instead of the enjoyment and fulfillment it used to.

“Lovino—“

“You really need to learn how to take a hint, _mon alouette têtu_. He clearly doesn’t want to dance with you.”

Arthur turned and glared at the newcomer. “Bugger off, baguette brain. This doesn’t concern you.”

“If you really are so desperate that you keep pestering such a clearly unwilling partner, then I suppose I could join you for a dance” said Francis, casually flicking his hair out of his eyes.

“Fuck you, I am most certainly not desperate—“

“Though I guess we would have to put in a request for a song that’s more your style.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The Frenchman shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. “Oh, nothing. Just that your usual dancing tends to stick to a few particular genres. Nothing like the kind of things our dear Vash has been playing so far.”

Lovino watched, the slightest bit impressed at how quickly Francis had managed to change the subject and commandeer the Brit’s complete attention. Then again, everyone knew that if there was one thing Arthur could not ignore, it was challenge.

“Vash!” cried Arthur, somehow managing to make himself heard over the music. “Play the sluts!”

With a quick nod and thumbs up, the apathetic DJ got to work, and the music changed. Finishing what was left of his drink and tossing the cup away, Arthur immediately jumped in.

[I know you like me (I know you like me)

I know you do (I know you do)

That’s why whenever I come around

She’s all over you]

To say the song was not in Arthur’s usual style would’ve been an understatement. The Brit was nothing if not precise in his dancing. What Lovino had noticed had grown increasingly apparent since the first time he saw Arthur dance two years ago however, was that the man’s passion was becoming misplaced. The older man’s emotions were starting to center around the physical and technical aspects of the dance, so what would draw the observer in was not Arthur’s passion, but his sheer skill.

What Lovino was currently witnessing was the complete opposite.

[And I know you want it (I know you want it)

It’s easy to see (it’s easy to see)

And in the back of your mind I know

You should be fucking with me]

The alcohol had clearly loosened Arthur up, making his movements less precise and more fluid. There was no choreography to follow or create, only music and the desire to prove Francis wrong. It was breathtaking to say the least.

[Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?

Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?

Don’t cha, Don’t cha]

During the middle of the chorus, Francis—who had been looking on with an expression of surprised delight (among other, less tame things)—tried to join in, only to have Arthur dance out of reach.

[Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was raw like me?

Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me?

Don’t cha, Don’t cha]

Deciding that a tactical retreat while Arthur was thoroughly distracted with Francis was in his best interest, Lovino ducked into the crowd and made his way back towards the door that lead into the hallway. There was a subtle throb in his leg that seemed to follow the beat of the song and he did his best to ignore it. Lovino didn’t dance. He couldn’t dance—not anymore. He wouldn’t dance. Ever.

“Lovi!”

The Italian stopped and turned, nearly colliding with a familiar, firm chest. Antonio had changed into dry clothes—a fact that Lovino was equal parts relieved and disappointed about—and was now wearing a charcoal gray V-neck t-shirt and tight black pants. His hair was still a little damp from the pool, but it was delightfully messy looking.

“I’m glad I was able to find you again. _Te fuiste antes de que te pudiera decir qualquier cosa_. Are you still busy?”

Once again robbed of his higher order thinking capabilities, Lovino’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What?”

“ _Quieres bailar_?” asked Antonio with a wide grin that lit up his entire face.

Lovino’s stomach twisted. He really just could not catch a fucking break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:  
> -i didn't mean to make toño so smooth, it just happened.  
> -the only reason the pool became a thing in this fic was so i would have an excuse to write a half naked and soaking wet toño  
> -emma is belgium. she is a junior  
> -emma can read people like a book  
> -lovi is not subtle. at all.  
> -vash DJ's all of pi rho omega's events. he is a senior  
> -more insight into arthur and lovi's past *wiggles fingers*  
> -nobody works up arthur like francis can. no one.  
> -more sexual tension courtesy of fruk  
> -i wonder why lovi is so dead set on not dancing (*cough*findoutnextweek*cough*)
> 
> translations:  
> -acabo de salir de la piscina: (spa) i just came out of the pool  
> -gracias: (spa) thanks/thank you  
> -yo pienso lo mismo de ti: (spa) i think the same about you  
> -como te llamas?: (spa) what's your name?  
> -para servirte: (spa) at your service [literally, to serve you]  
> -es un pacer: (spa) it's a pleasure  
> -Dankjewel: (dut) thank you  
> -hallo: (dut) hi/hello  
> -doei: (dut) bye  
> -neanch'io: (ita) me neither  
> -cin-cin: (ita) cheers [said when toasting]  
> -vuoi ballare?: (ita) do you want to dance?  
> -mon alouette têtu: (fre) my stubborn lark  
> -te fuiste antes de que te pudiera decir qualquier cosa: (spa) you left before i could tell you anything  
> -quieres bailar?: (spa) do you want to dance?
> 
> also:  
> -"Así comenzó" means, "it began thus", or "it began like this" in spanish  
> -since this fic takes place in a vague point in time in the past, i used older songs to keep anachronisms at a minimum  
> -songs featured in this chapter are (in order of appearance): "dip it low" by christina milian, "low" by flo rida, feat. t pain, and "dont cha" by the pussycat dolls.  
> -(and yes, this the stuff i used to listen to back in middle school)  
> -i am not a dancer, so pls forgive my shitty descriptions (choreography is sgt's thing)  
> -IM SORRY I POSTED THIS SO LATE TODAY! i recently started working weekdays again now that the semester is over, so i couldn't edit this and stuff until i got home  
> -again, if anything doesnt make sense (or if ya wanna yell at me for taking my sweet ass time with the update), feel welcome to drop me a review!  
> -IM ALWAYS A SLUT FOR REVIEWS


	5. Per questo. Por aquello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the mystery of why lovino doesnt dance finally revealed!
> 
> (and yes, i know its late. im sorry T^T)

“I really don’t.”

Antonio’s smile fell a little. “How come?”

Lovino took another swig of wine, and then turned to walk away. “I can’t.”

A warm hand settled gently on his waist and the brunette easily followed him was he tried to slip through the crowd. “Now that I find very hard to believe” said Antonio, breath ghosting past Lovino’s ear.

The Italian ignored the shiver that ran down his back and quickened his pace. “I don’t care if you believe be or not, _bastardo_. I’m telling you I can’t because I know I can’t, so go find someone else.”

“You won’t know if you don’t try” said Antonio. “I’d be more than happy to teach you how.”

Lovino scoffed. “I know how to dance. I was one of the fucking best. So good most people couldn’t keep up with me.” The wine was starting to hit him hard—he always said too much when he got drunk.

A second hand settled on the other side of the Italian’s waist and a warm feeling spread across his skin. “I already told you, I’m not most people.”

Lovino’s breath hitched as the sound of the husky voice traveled straight to his groin. It should be illegal to sound that sexy. His steps slowed and he felt Antonio slide up behind him. With gentle, coaxing hands, the brunette moved Lovino’s waist to the beat of the song playing. Lulled by the warmth on his back and the alcohol clouding his thoughts, he began to sway along, gradually melting into Antonio’s touch.

When the brunette spoke, Lovino could feel it rumble in his chest. “See? You’re a natural. _Tu cuerpo fue hecho para bailar_.”

Lovino chuckled lazily. Oh he didn’t even know the half of it. Lovino was one of the best. Unmatched. Even without a partner he was amazing. Of course his body had been made to—

A rhythmic clapping coming from the speakers made Lovino freeze, blood running cold. His heartbeat skyrocketed and is throat felt like it was squeezing shut.

“Lovi? Are you alright?”

The intelligible lyrics drowned out Antonio’s concern, and when the saxophone started to play, Lovino could feel every brassy note throbbing in his leg. It was the song. The goddamn song and dance that had cost him everything. Taken everything and left him a bitter, empty husk of what he used to be.

[Whoop whoop when you’re ‘round come around

Cause I know you’re the talk of the town yeah

Whoop whoop when you’re ‘round come around

Cause I know you’re the talk of the town yeah]

“Lovi?”

Antonio’s face appeared in front of the Italian, the concern in his green eyes quickly melting into worry as soon as he got a good look at him. The expression was a little too close to pity for Lovino’s comfort, causing him to react the way he usually did when confronted with something that upset him. Using speed he had long forgotten he possessed, Lovino slipped out of the brunette’s comforting touch and ran.

Through the crowded room, through the door, and out into the back yard, where he promptly threw up in the nearest bushes. His throat burned, his vision was blurry, and his insides felt like they were shattering. Snatches of an overly sympathetic voice from a long suppressed memory rang in his head.

“..kneecap…fracture…torn…twisted…therapy…at least a year…anymore.”

He threw up again, an acute, phantom pain squeezing around his leg like a vice. Never again. Never again.

Once Lovino had emptied out everything in his stomach and was coughing and dry heaving, he faintly registered the feeling of a warm hand rubbing circles on his back, and a soothing voice whispering comforting words.

“ _Ya saliò todo. Respira, respira._ _Estas bien, solo respira_.”

Tilting his head up so he would no longer have to look at the mess he had left on the grass, Lovino stared at Antonio. Honestly, he had half expected the brunette to follow him—the bastard seemed like the persistent type—but he was surprised he had stuck around. Most people avoided someone puking in the bushes. But then again, as Antonio sat down and diligently began wiping his face with damp paper towels, Lovino remembered what he had said twice before. I’m not most people.

When the brunette held up a bottle of water to Lovino’s lips, the Italian was too tired to do little else than quietly sip the liquid and put all his energy into making sure it didn’t dribble down his chin. He already looked like enough of a pathetic child without the front of his shirt soaked through.

Turning away, Lovino wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rasped out a quiet “ _grazie_.”

Antonio nodded as he twisted the cap back onto the bottle, glancing up at Lovino periodically. Setting the water down near Lovino’s leg, the brunette sat back, leaning his weight on his hands. “So…I’m guessing you didn’t just run out because you were feeling nauseous.”

“ _Che te ne frega_?” muttered Lovino, looking away. The last thing he needed was pity from the hot no-longer-half-naked man.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it—“

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“—but it does help to tell someone if there’s something that’s bothering you” finished Antonio.

“So?” asked Lovino, plucking out grass blades by his knee.

“So I’d be happy to listen to you, if you’d let me” said the brunette.

Lovino looked up and took in Antonio’s relaxed, unimposing posture, his soothing tone of voice, and the understanding expression on his ridiculously handsome face. Amber eyes narrowed. “You’re a goddamn psychology major, aren’t you?”

Antonio closed and eye and winced slightly. “Is it that obvious?”

The Italian huffed and started to stand up, fighting through the nausea and dizziness that swept through him at the motion. “I don’t need a wannabe shrink. I’m not crazy and I’m not sick in the head.”

“I never said you were” replied the brunette, standing up as well to steady Lovino’s swaying form. “And that’s a stigmatized assumption. Not everyone that goes to a psychologist has a psychological condition. _Toda la gente beneficiaria de una visita con un terapista_.”

Lovino smacked his hands away and shuffled over to lean against the back wall of the frat house. “Well people don’t always do what’s beneficial to them.”

“Do you speak from personal experience?”

The Italian laughed—a hollow, humorless sound. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would. _Por eso pregunté_.”

“I do speak from personal experience _._ _La mia vita è una cazzata dopo l’altra_ ” said Lovino with a rueful smirk.

“Why do you say that?”

“…because I had everything, then I lost it”

“Did you lose it, or was it taken from you?”

The Italian rubbed a hand over his face. He felt so goddamn tired. “I’d like to say it was taken, but no, that shit was all me.”

“Lovi, was the reason you ran out…was it because of how I touched you? Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Lovino turned and saw how Antonio’s face was pinched with worry.

“I’m sorry if I did. _No fué mi intenciòn hacerte sentir incomodo_.”

Thinking back to gentle hands and warmth on his back, Lovino flushed slightly. “No, that was fine. If I didn’t like it I would’ve straight up told you. Why would you—“ The Italian paused as the pieces fell into place. “Oh goddamnit, did you think I had been sexually assaulted or something and ran away because of the way you were holding me?”

Antonio scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe.”

 Lovino pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fucking psych majors I swear to god.”

“So if that wasn’t it, then why did you leave?”

Letting his hands drop to his sides, the Italian sighed heavily. “You’re not gonna leave me alone until I tell you, are you?”

“Sorry” said the brunette, smiling apologetically. “My friends say I have tendency to not know when to let things go.”

“You really don’t.” Lovino slid down the wall until he was sitting down on the grass, his back pressed to the brick. “ _Va bene, bastardo. Hai vinto_. Now sit the fuck down before I come to my senses and realize what a fucking terrible idea this is.”

Antonio wordlessly dropped down next to him, green eyes focused intently. Lovino tilted his head back and closed his eyes, unable to meet the brunettes gaze.

“When I was little—3 or 4 years old—I got sick. Really bad fever. Because of that fever, I developed something called Sydenham’s chorea. It’s a disorder that fucks with your motor control, especially in the face, hands, and feet. Basically, it’s like involuntary dancing. The doctors gave me meds for it, but they said that it was still gonna take a while for the physical symptoms to stop.

“During that time, I didn’t go out much. The looks I would get when I did really fucked with my self-esteem.” Lovino grimaced slightly, remembering the way people would look at him—a mixture of confusion, pity, and fear. “I usually just stayed at home with my twin brother, Feliciano, and my _nonno_.”

The Italian smiled, letting his eyes open a bit. “Feli used to draw me pictures of what he saw outside when he went for walks with our nanny since I couldn’t see for myself. I still have a lot of them. Hell of a lot better than the shit most of the art majors around here can come up with, that’s for sure. Anyway, in an effort to get me out of the house, my _nonno_ signed me up for dance classes. Old man has a pretty shitty sense of humor sometimes, but he was dead set on getting me to go, regardless of what I thought. Practically dragged my ass to the studio the first day, but when I got there…”

Lovino looked up at the night sky, trying to pick out the stars that were barely visible past the light of the frat house. “It was amazing. Don’t get me wrong, those first couple of days were frustrating as hell. Trying to follow along to what the teacher is doing when your hands and feet are doing something different is annoying to say the least. But sometimes, when the teacher would see me struggling, she would say ‘why Lovino, that is a much better choreography. Everyone, follow what Lovino is doing.’ And didn’t that just make me feel special as hell.

“After a while, the twitching grew less frequent and I slowly gained back control of all of my movements. I started school with Feli, but I kept going to dance class. I got good. Like, really good. I won competitions and contests at national and international levels. I was one of the best…”

Lovino’s voice cracked a bit on the last word and he took a deep breath before continuing. “I was good, but by the time I got to high school I had let it go to my head. I thought I was untouchable. My senior year I had guaranteed full-rides to every school I had applied to, and even some offers for spots in dance companies in 3 different countries. I was set.

“About a month before graduation, there was a competition in the capital. National level. I wanted to end my high school career with a bang.”

Lovino laughed, the broken, hollow sound catching in his throat. “In a way I did, I guess. Ever since those first few dance classes, I got stuck with the habit of changing choreography mid-dance, regardless of whether I was just practicing or in the middle of a performance. My teachers and coaches told me to be careful when I did that because one day I could end up getting seriously hurt.”

The phantom pain in his leg squeezed again and Lovino swallowed back tears. “I didn’t listen because I thought I was too good, too talented to let that happen. So in the middle of the performance for that competition, I changed the choreography to something more elaborate and complex—moves that I had only practiced a few times before. Long story short, I fucked up my leg. Finished the dance though. Won first place. But they had to mail the trophy to my house because I was rushed to the hospital as soon as my routine was over.

“Collapsed kneecap, hairline fracture to the tibia, torn ligament, and a nasty twisted ankle” said Lovino, closing his eyes and reciting from memory. “It would heal fine, but I would need physical therapy for at least a year after that. And I would never be able to dance competitively again.

“I spent prom night sitting on my couch, eating gelato and watching shitty mobster movies. I stayed at home during graduation because I refused to hobble across the stage in crutches. I still ended up coming here for college, but I turned own the full-ride because I don’t want to major in dance. I’ve spent the last year in physical therapy and I’m fine now, but I still feel ghost pain sometimes, like I did back in the frat house.”

“What triggered it?” asked Antonio quietly.

“The…the song. The song that was playing was the one I was dancing to when…when it happened.”

Strong arms wrapped around Lovino and pulled him in to rest on a firm chest. He stiffened a bit at the contact before letting himself relax into Antonio’s embrace.

“ _Esta bien_ , Lovi” he whispered soothingly.

And just like that, the floodgates opened and Lovino cried. It was an ugly cry, the kind with tears and snot and drool and just so much liquid it looked like every orifice on his face was leaking. His only saving grace was that he was somehow managing to keep in his gut-wrenching sobs—instead, letting out broken, hiccup-y sounds and cracking intakes of breath. Antonio didn’t seem to mind—or if he did, he was hiding it quite well—and was running his fingers through Lovino’s hair, making soothing shushing sounds.

After what felt like hours—but was probably just a little over 10 minutes—Lovino pulled away slightly and sniffled. Antonio held out a handkerchief—and seriously, who the hell carried around actual handkerchiefs anymore—which the Italian took and promptly blew his nose with.

“Better?” asked the brunette, carefully pushing Lovino’s bangs back from his forehead.

Lovino stopped and thought for a moment. His throat was still scratchy from vomiting earlier, his face was probably blotchy, his eyes were definitely puffy, and he essentially felt like he has cried himself inside out. But aside from all that, he felt…lighter. Like he could breathe easier—even though his nose was still pretty full of snot.

“Yeah. _Grazie_ ” he mumbled with a small nod.

Antonio shook his head. “No, thank you for sharing all that with me.”

Lovino scoffed and wiped his nose again. “Congratulations, you leveled up and unlocked my tragic backstory.”

“How many more levels until I can convince you to dance again?” asked the brunette, peering up at him through dark lashes.

“If that’s the goal then you’re playing the wrong game” said Lovino, letting his face fall into its usual scowl.

Antonio laughed, that odd, cheerful sound, before standing up and holding a hand out to Lovino. “Shall we go back inside?”

Amber eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because it’s getting a little chilly out and” the brunette glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time for Vash’s break.”

Vash. That was the DJ’s name. “So?”

Antonio winked. “You’ll see.”

Lovino stared at the proffered hand for a moment longer before taking it and letting himself be pulled up. He’d already made enough of an ass of himself in front of the brunette—first falling down, then running away, then puking in the bushes, then telling him why he didn’t dance, and finally, crying all over him in the most unattractive way possible. What more did he have to lose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:  
> -lovino's trigger song is "Calabria" by Enur feat. Natasja (i have nothing against the song, i just needed something for him to bust his shit to)  
> -lovi is a tragedy and he runs away from his problems  
> -he is also a very emotional drunk  
> -toño is entirely too used to taking care of drunks (*cough*gilandfrancis*cough*)  
> -toño is a psychology major  
> -the crack at psych majors is a self-depreciating one. i am a psych major and i tend to jump to conclusions.  
> -i am also very much against the stigmatization of mental illness.  
> -to my understanding, Romano's chorea is canon, and Spain tried to heal him by teaching him to dance, so lovi's backstory is based off of that  
> -lovi met arthur his senior year of highschool when he went on a college visit with feli. arthur performed and lovi was so impressed that he decided on the spot that its where he wanted to attend. the school offered him a full ride (because he was just that good) and he accepted.  
> -the school heard about the accident, but they didn't withdraw their offer. lovino declined it anyway.  
> -lovi is an ugly crier. like, the ugliest tears.  
> -toño carries around handkerchiefs, he embroiders them himself.  
> -i wonder what toño meant about vash's break (*couch*findoutnextweek*cough*)
> 
> translations:  
> -bastardo: (ita) bastard  
> -tu cuerpo fue hecho para bailar: (spa) your body was made for dancing  
> -ya saliò todo. Respira, respira. Estas bien, solo respira: (spa) everything is out. breathe, breathe. you're fine, just breathe  
> -che te ne frega?: (ita) what the fuck do you care?  
> -toda la gente beneficiaria de una visita con un terapista: (spa) everyone would benefit from a visit with a therapist  
> -por eso pregunté: (spa) that's why i asked  
> -la mia vita è una cazzata dopo l’altra: (ita) my life is one fuck-up after the other  
> -no fué mi intenciòn hacerte sentir incomodo: (spa) it wasnt my intention to make you feel uncomfortable  
> -va bene, bastardo. Hai vinto: (ita) okay, bastard. you win  
> -nonno: (ita) grandfather/grandpa  
> -esta bien: (spa) its okay
> 
> also:  
> -"Per questo" means "because of this" in italian. "Por aquello" means "because of that" in spanish.  
> -im sorry the chapter is so late!  
> -i was out of town for the holidays and left my laptop at home so there was no way fro me to upload. but fret not my lovelies, we're back to our regularly scheduled updates this week.  
> -the details of lovi's injury come courtesy of sgt coolwhip. she knows more about dance related injuries than i could ever hope to  
> -i am not a doctor, so i have no idea how long physical therapy for such an injury would take, so i just guesstimated a year.  
> -as always, if anything doesnt make sense, feel welcome to drop me a review and ask!  
> -IM ALWAYS A SLUT FOR REVIEWS


	6. Karaoke-Wettbewerb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this entire chapter is honestly just me being shamelessly indulgent. enjoy!

“No, you know what? I changed my mind, I’m going back inside.”

Antonio laughed, catching Lovino’s hand in his and pulling him back towards the stage. “ _Vamos,_ it’s almost time.”

The Italian groaned in protest, but let himself be pulled along without any resistance—which had nothing to do with how nice it felt to be holding hands with the brunette. It was even more packed inside the common room than when they had left, but Antonio was somehow managing to weave through the crowd with relative ease. Almost like it was something he was used to doing often. When they reached the foot of the stage, the brunette pointed to his watch, then held up a hand, counting down from five with his fingers. When he got to zero, he snapped his fingers and the music stopped abruptly.

Lovino blinked. “What the actual.”

Apparently, the Italian was alone in his confusion. Instead of the loud opposition and complaints that would usually follow such a sudden stop to the music at a frat party, there was a hushed excitement and anticipation in the air. Lovino couldn’t help but feel an acute sense of foreboding.

“ _Verdammt_ , is it that time already? No wonder Gilbert was in such a hurry.”

Amber eyes widening farther, Lovino stared at the slightly disheveled-looking newcomer.

“ _Hola_ Roderick! I haven’t seen you all night” said Antonio cheerfully. “ _Donde has estado_?”

“Well, someone has to make sure his highness…behaves” said Roderick, adjusting his glasses. There was something vaguely suggestive about the statement that Lovino was spared from looking deeper into by a loud, familiar laugh.

“Kesesesese _, hallo meine treuen Vogelschwarm_.”

The crowd erupted into a deafening cheer, chanting “ _lang lebe der Köning_!”

Gilbert adjusted his crown and held up a hand to quiet down the masses. “Yes yes, thank you.”

The white haired man was no longer wearing a shirt, and various fresh hickeys were clearly visible on his pale skin under the bright spotlights. He didn’t much seem to mind though.

“Put on a goddamn shirt!” called out a distinctly British voice from the crowd.

Lovino barked out a laugh and joined in. “Your pasty ass chest is blinding us all!”

“Yeah, I know all this awesome is too much to handle” said Gilbert, slipping a hand behind his neck and running it down to the low waistband of his shorts in a blatantly suggestive manner.

“ _Die Köningin_ handles it pretty well though” called out the British voice again. If Lovino squinted, he could just barely pick out the familiar blonde head in the crowd.

Gilbert cackled. “Oh he handles it the best.”

The Italian’s face bunched up into a slight grimace. That comment was definitely not going to go unpunished. Sure enough, an empty beer can flew straight towards the white haired man and hit him square in the face.

Gilbert smiled and rubbed his nose lightly. “Love you too, _meine Singvogel_.”

Roderick just dusted his hands off and turned his nose up at him haughtily.

“Anyway” continued Gilbert. “As most of you know, it’s time for our beloved DJ Vash’s one hour break, as stipulated by the terms of his contract.”

The apathetic DJ nodded and pulled a flask out of one of his many pockets.

“That being said, you know what that means, right?”

The crowd screamed. “Karaoke contest!”

“Damn straight. Now, as per tradition, your awesome king will kick things off.”

With a flourish, the white haired man pressed a button on the laptop that had been hooked up to the sound system next to Vash’s set up. An electric guitar started playing through the speakers and the audience cheered, starting to clap along to the beat.

Lovino’s eyes widened in recognition. “Wait, is that…”

Roderick sighed and crossed his arms. “Unfortunately.”

The guitar sped up and Gilbert launched into the song.

[ _99 Luftballons_  
Auf ihrem Weg zum Horizont  
Hielt man für UFOs aus dem All  
Darum schickte eine General

 _'Ne Fliegerstaffel hinterher_  
Alarm zu geben, wenn es so wär  
Dabei war'n da am Horizont  
Nur 99 Luftballons]

For all that Gilbert sounded like a bag of wet cats; his energy was contagious as hell. Everyone was singing and dancing along, and even Lovino found his head bobbing to the beat. By the end of the song, Gilbert’s hair was even wilder than before, and his pale skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat.

[ _99 Jahre Krieg_  
Ließen keinen Platz für Sieger  
Kriegsminister gibt's nicht mehr  
Und auch keine Düsenflieger

 _Heute zieh' ich meine Runden_  
Seh die Welt in Trümmern liegen  
Hab 'n Luftballon gefunden  
Denk' an Dich und lass' ihn fliegen]

The crowd erupted into cheers and earsplitting whistles. Lovino clapped quietly. As much as he disliked the potato bastard, he had to acknowledge the passion he had put into the performance.

Gilbert gave a lavish bow. “ _Danke sehr_! Now, who’s next?”

Murmurs started up in the audience, people nudging each other and trying to get their friends to go up.

A long-suffering sigh sounded from next to Lovino. “Over here.”

The Italian’s head whipped around and he stared at Roderick. His old RA was holding a hand up, looking as unruffled and posh as ever.

Gilbert’s eyes lit up like a match to kerosene, and his grin was so wide it looked like his face was going to split in half. The crowd was similarly ecstatic, quickly shifting to clear a path to the stage for Roderick.

Antonio nudged Lovino in the side and it came to the Italian’s attention that they were still holding hands. “We’re in for a treat. It’s always a spectacle when Roderick decides to perform.”

“I’ll bet” murmured Lovino.

He knew for a fact that Roderick was a music major—and that the main reason he became an RA was so that he wouldn’t have to share a dorm room with anyone but his grand piano. Lovino had even attended one of his recitals and could say with absolute certainty that Roderick was good. Damn good. The Italian had never heard him sing though, and if the way Gilbert looked just about ready to pee his shorts in excitement was any indication, Lovino was sure Antonio was right. They were in for one hell of a performance.

After scrolling though the laptop for a moment, Roderick clicked on a song, brought out another microphone, and wordlessly handed it to Gilbert. The white haired man stared at it in confusion for a bit, but as soon as the music started, his grin could only be described as sinful.

[How you doing young lady

The feeling that you give me really drives me crazy

You don’t have to play about the joke

I was at a loss for words first time that we spoke]

Tucking a finger into the collar of his shirt, Roderick started to loosen his day cravat, a small smirk curving his lips.

[You’re looking for a girl that’ll treat you right

You lookin for her in the daytime with a light]

Gilbert slipped behind Roderick and placed a hand on the other man’s hip.

[You might be the type if I play my cards right

I’ll find out by the end of the night]

Roderick casually brushed off the pale hand and finished pulling out the knot on his cravat.

[You expect me to just let you hit it,

But will you still respect me if you get it?]

Catching Roderick’s hand, Gilbert held it up and examined the long, tapered fingers.

[All I can do is try, gimme one chance

What’s the problem?

I don’t see no ring on your hand

I’ll be the first to admit it

I’m curious about you, you seem so innocent]

Roderick slipped his hand out of Gilbert’s grasp, and then put it on his pale shoulder, moving them so they were facing each other and the audience could see them in profile.

[You wanna get in my world

Get lost in it

Boy I’m tired of running

Let’s walk for a minute]

Once again grabbing onto Roderick’s hip, Gilbert pulled the other man against him until their bottom halves were pressed flush together.

[Promiscuous girl

Wherever you are

I’m all alone

And it’s you that I want]

In one fluid movement, Roderick slipped his cravat off and looped it around the back of Gilbert’s neck, using it to pull him closer.

[Promiscuous boy

You already know

That I’m all yours

What you waiting for?]

Gilbert pressed their foreheads together and rolled his hips into Roderick’s.

[Promiscuous girl

You’re teasing me

You know what I want

And I got what you need]

Sliding his hand down Gilbert’s chest—and lingering over the darkened hickeys littered across it—Roderick rocked his hips from side to side.

[Promiscuous boy

Let’s get to the point

Cause we’re on a roll

Are you ready?]

Lovino clamped his hands over his eyes and rubbed the heels of them into the sockets in hopes of scrubbing away the image of his old RA and his old TA essentially humping each other on stage.

“Word sex” he said, curling his lip in disgust. “They’re having fucking word sex set to music up there and that is not okay.”

“That’s one way to put it” said Antonio thoughtfully. “They sure look like they’re having fun though.”

“Eww. No. Stop. Please. _Sento già il bisogno di lavarmi gli occhi con la candeggina_.”

Risking glances through his fingers, then immediately regretting it, Lovino suffered though the sexually-charged spectacle. When the song finally ended and he uncovered his eyes, it was to see Gilbert and Roderick let their mics fall and simultaneously lunge towards each other, vigorously making out as soon as their lips connected. As they shuffled off stage—not even separating to breathe—to a chorus of wolf whistles and catcalls, Lovino cringed, feeling his cheeks heat up at their shamelessness.

“Every minute I spend in here I can feel a little more of my innocence slipping away.”

“Whoever you end up going that cherished last bit to, is surely the most fortunate man in the world” said Antonio in a low voice, warm breath ghosting past the Italian’s ear.

Before Lovino could do much else than blush, a loud stomping came from up on stage. A positively livid-looking Elizabeta stormed into the spotlight and picked up the two discarded microphones, jamming one into the mic stand and dropping the other next to the laptop. Deftly making her own song selection, she walked up to the mic stand and gripped it like she trying to strangle it. What followed was probably the most terrifying rendition of “Girlfriend” by Avril Lavigne that anyone present had ever witnessed. Lovino cowered behind Antonio slightly. The reason Liz hated Gilbert definitely had to do with Roderick, or, more precisely, the fact that Gilbert and Roderick were together.

When she finished and stormed off again, another figure stumbled onto the stage taking the microphone off the stand and setting the latter off to the side. “Bloody brilliant performance Liz. It’ll be quite a challenge to match it, but I’ll do my best.”

Swaying precariously, Arthur reached over and hit a button on the laptop. The familiar chord progression of a guitar played over the speakers and Lovino gaped up at the stage.

“No way”

Antonio chuckled. “Oh this is going to be great.”

[Look

If you had, one shot

One opportunity

To seize everything you ever wanted

In one moment

Would you capture it

Or let it slip?]

Arthur’s accent was all but gone, his moss green eyes locked on one spot in the crowd, the spotlights making them look intense and otherworldly. Lovino followed his line of vision and rolled his eyes when he located the target of Brit’s gaze.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Francis was staring back at the other blonde just as intently, face cast in shadow, making him look every inch the hungry predator.

[You better lose yourself in the music, the moment

You own it, you better never let it go

You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow

This opportunity comes once in a lifetime]

The crowd was jumping, rapping along to the chorus, and the energy in the room was through the roof. Lovino couldn’t help but wonder why if Arthur was capable of such intense passion, he didn’t let it show in all of his performances. It was contagious. Magnetic. If the Brit managed to incorporate it into his already near-perfect dancing, he would be unstoppable.

When he reached the end of the song, Arthur pulled off the tight, acid green tank top he was wearing and tossed it into the crowd, where it was deftly caught by Francis and reverently kissed, like knight would do to a handkerchief a lady would throw to show her favor.

Gilbert reappeared after Arthur hopped off stage, looking thoroughly debauched and sporting several fresh hickeys. “Woo! Let’s give it up for Arthur everyone!”

The audience cheered and Lovino stuck his fingers in his mouth to contribute a whistle of his own. The Brit had certainly earned it.

“Anybody think they can top that?” asked the white haired man with a raised eyebrow.

“ _Je peux_.”

Everyone turned to stare at Francis as he casually strode up to the stage.

“Aw shit _, der schwarzer Schwan_ himself is going to honor us with a performance” said Gilbert, relinquishing the microphone in its stand with a slight incline of his head and a flap of his hand.

Francis nodded to him, and then winked at the crowd, sending them into a frenzy of squeals and screams. Lovino scowled. Honestly, the hormone levels in the room were already too damn high without the _bastardo_ pulling shit like that.

“So what’ll it be, dearest brohaus of mine?” asked Gilbert, hands poised over the laptop.

The blonde thought for a moment, before managing to catch sight of Arthur in the crowd again, and smiling sinfully. “Number 439 on list M, _s’il vous plaît_.”

 “Oho, bringing out the big guns, huh?’ quipped Gilbert, setting up Francis’ selection.

“ _Bien sûr_ ” responded the blonde, still staring intently at Arthur. “The hunt is proving to be quite a challenge.”

Red eyes glanced up and that distinctive serious expression crossed Gilbert’s face for a moment. Just as suddenly as it appeared, it was replaced with a cheeky smile. Hitting a button, the white haired man started up the song and left the stage, but not before taking the extra microphone with him. Lovino’s eyes narrowed. What the hell was the potato bastard up to?

While everyone else was busy staring at Francis, Gilbert casually handed the mic to a meek-looking blonde that was standing in the audience near the wall. The blonde stared at him in shock, eyes gone wide behind his glasses, but the older man just ruffled his wavy hair and said “go for it, kid.” Nervously pushing back his hair, the blonde held the microphone in both hands and started the song.

[Whatcha gonna do with all that junk  
All that junk inside your trunk]

Francis, seemingly unaware that he was singing with someone else, arched his back and cocked his hip.

[I'ma get get get get you drunk  
Get you love drunk off my hump  
My hump my hump my hump my hump my hump  
My hump my hump my hump my lovely little lumps

Check it out]

Lovino pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course. Why did I expect any different.”

“Oh this is nothing” said Antonio, watching the performance with amusement. “Last year he sang the entire aria from _Carmen_ completely naked. I’m sure there’s video of it somewhere.”

“Yeah, no, if there’s any more naked I’m going to need to bleach out my entire brain by the time the night is over. Maybe look into getting one of those Men in Black style mind-wipes.”

[Whatcha gonna do with all that ass  
All that ass inside your jeans]

Defying the laws of common sense and universal physics, Francis pulled off his pants—one-handed—in a quick, fluid motion, revealing the tight, gold lamè booty shorts he was wearing underneath.

[I’ma make make make make you scream

Make you scream make you scream]

And boy did they scream. Shrill, high-pitched sounds not unlike those heard at sold-out boy band concerts filled the room, making Lovino clamp his hands over his ears lest he go deaf.

“This is supposed to be a goddamn karaoke contest” cried the Italian. “Why is there so much naked? There should not be this much naked!”

“Well” said Antonio with a cheeky smile. “It’s a universally proven fact that the party hasn’t really started until Gil goes shirtless and Francis loses his pants.”

“…you all need to sit down and revise your definition of a party.”

Lovino said a quiet prayer of thanks when the song was finally over and Francis disappeared back into the crowd, presumably to resume the twisted game of cat and mouse he and Arthur were engaged in.

Gilbert hopped up onto the stage. “Marvelous performance as always, Francy-pants. Now, who’s next?”

A hand shot up into the air, just barely visible over the top of everyone’s heads. “Meee!”

Amber eyes widened in recognition. “ _Cazzo, bionda_. Nooo.”

Feliks stepped up to the microphone, adjusting the stand to his modest height. “So like, I dedicate this song to my sexy little _królik_ cause he’s like, totally perf.”

Lovino was torn between feeling happy that his friend felt comfortable enough with Toris now to pull ridiculous shit like that, and feeling sorry for the jittery brunette because Feliks felt comfortable enough around him to pull ridiculous shit like that.

“Do you know him?” asked Antonio.

The Italian sighed. “Better than I’d like to admit. Which is why I know exactly what song he picked.”

As soon as the bubbly chords started playing through the speakers, Lovino fought back a fond smile. He had been present for more than enough impromptu performances by Feliks in his dorm room to know just what they were in store for.

[This one is for the boys with the boomin' system,  
Top down, AC, with the coolin' system  
When he come up in the club, he be blazin' up  
Got stacks on deck like he savin' up]

Flipping his hair back and strutting across the stage, Feliks pointed at Toris in the audience and smiled.   

[And he ill, he real, he might got a deal  
He pop bottles, and he got the right kind of build  
He cold, he dope, he might sell coke  
He always in the air, but he never fly coach  
He a muthafuckin' trip, trip, sailor of the ship, ship

When he make it drip, drip kiss him on the lip, lip  
That's the kind of dude I was lookin' fo'  
And yes, you'll get slapped if you're lookin', ho]

The audience finally snapped out of their slack-jawed stupor and started cheering and dancing along. It never ceased to amaze Lovino how Feliks lost any sense of embarrassment or shame when he was in front of a crowd, but turned into a tragic puddle of insecurity behind closed doors when he was no longer the center of attention. The Italian figured it was because Feliks could care less about the opinion of the masses, because it really didn’t matter to him. Especially not when compared to what people he actually cared about thought of him—people whose opinions mattered. If Lovino was the sappy, emotional type—which he was definitely not, that was more Feliciano’s thing—he would say he felt privileged that Feliks allowed him to see such a vulnerable side to his otherwise boisterous personality. But the Italian was not a sap, so he never said any such thing—out loud anyway. The blonde would make fun of him for the rest of his life if he ever did.

A gentle nudge in the side brought Lovino out of his mushy musings. “Is that your friend’s boyfriend?”

Looking in the direction Antonio pointed, the Italian couldn’t help but laugh as a fiercely determined Feliks dragged Toris on stage and started dancing on him during the bridge of the song.

[See, I need you in my life for me to stay  
No, no, no, no, no, I know you'll stay  
No, no, no, no, no, don't go away  
Boy, you got my heartbeat runnin' away  
Don't you hear that heartbeat comin' your way?  
Oh, it be like, "Boom, badoom-boom, boom, badoom-boom, bass"  
Can't you hear that boom, badoom-boom, boom, badoom-boom, bass?]

“Well, if he wasn’t his boyfriend before, he sure as hell is now” said Lovino, turning back to Antonio.

The brunette was looking at him with a peculiar expression—all warm smiles and gentle eyes—and it was unsettling.

“What?” asked the Italian. “Is there something on my face?”

Antonio shook his head and moved closer, softly running his fingers over the curve of Lovino’s cheek. “ _No, es solo que te ves tan lindo cuando te ríes_. I couldn’t help but stare.”   

Really, it had to be goddamn illegal how quickly the brunette could reduce Lovino into a sputtering, incoherent puddle of goo. By the time he had regained cognitive abilities, the song was over and the next person was already on stage.

“I am also wanting to dedicate a song.”

The ridiculously tall, silver haired guy extended the mic stand as far as it would go. His innocent smile looked out of place on such a large, muscular body and the effect was more than a little disconcerting. Lovino once again shifted so he was behind Antonio.

“This song is dedicated to my beautiful sunflower, Yao. Even though he is not present, I am sure that my feelings will reach him.”

“Aww, that’s cute” cooed the brunette.

Lovino rolled his eyes. Great, first the slew of blatantly sexual songs, now a mushy parade of feelings.

[You're on the phone with your girlfriend  
She's upset  
She's going off about something that you said  
'Cause she doesn't get your humor like I do]

The Italian groaned loudly. Not just any feeling parade then, but one led by the Queen of Melodramatic Teenage Pining herself. Lovino seemed to be alone in his opinion though, as the rest of the crowd had eagerly started singing along.

[But she wears short skirts  
I wear T-shirts  
She's cheer captain  
And I'm on the bleachers  
Dreaming about the day when you wake up  
And find that what you're looking for has been here the whole time

If you can see I'm the one who understands you  
Been here all along so why can't you see  
You belong with me  
You belong with me]

“Why is she complaining about being in the friend zone?” asked Lovino disdainfully. “If the bastard didn’t notice how ‘great’ she was from the beginning, then he obviously isn’t going to so she should stop trying to get in his pants and move on.”

Antonio laughed and looked at him fondly. “You’re rather pragmatic about love for an Italian.”

Lovino shrugged. “Romantic love is an ideal. Something that exists in stories and poetry. A nice thought, but just a thought nonetheless.”

Something sad and a little disappointed flitted across Antonio’s face, but was quickly replaced with a determined expression. It made the Italian’s stomach twist in something between foreboding and anticipation. He didn’t like the feeling.

When the song was over and the tall guy took a bashful bow, someone else literally leapt up onto the stage and slid in front of the microphone.

“Nice one, broski. But ya can’t expect to seduce someone with Tay-Tay. Let the hero show you how it’s done!”

The tall guy patted the newcomer on the head on his way off the stage. “ _Da_. Try not to hurt yourself, comrade.”

With a scoff, he waved the silver haired guy away before reaching up to adjust his glasses. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but Lovino couldn’t place it. He was blonde with bright sky-blue eyes, rimless glasses, a million dollar smile, and a ridiculously fit figure. A real All-American wet dream.

Just as Lovino began to wonder what he was going to sing, a slow guitar riff played through the speakers.

“Woo! Giddy up cowboy!” cried Gilbert from somewhere in the crowd, tossing a black cowboy hat up to the stage.

Catching it deftly and putting it on, the blonde winked, flicking the brim.

[It's all the same, only the names will change  
Every day, it seems we're wastin' away  
Another place where the faces are so cold  
I drive all night just to get back home]

The blonde tipped his hat.

[Cause I’m a cowboy]

Tilting the mic stand forward, he swung a leg over it so it rested in the space between his thighs, and then rocked his hips in slow, languid movements.

[On a steel horse I ride

I’m wanted dead or alive

Wanted dead or alive]

Out of everyone so far, he definitely had the best singing voice—and the best physique. Jesus, the guy was built like a goddamn inverted triangle, all broad shoulders and tiny waist. He was a little too energetic to really be Lovino’s type, but that didn’t stop the Italian from enjoying the view.

“So he said you can’t seduce someone with Taylor Swift, but apparently you can with Bon Jovi?” wondered Lovino out loud.

Antonio chuckled. “I can’t blame the kid. This is what happens when freshmen hit Gil’s jungle juice too hard.”

At the brunette’s words, the Italian silently thanked Arthur for drinking the radioactive nuclear waste that Gilbert had offered him earlier. That stuff was dangerous and he wanted nothing to do with it. “This is why I stick to wine.”

At the end of the song, the blonde took a bow, doffing his hat and gifting the audience with another blinding smile before getting a running start and launching himself off the stage and onto the crowd. Catching him with ease, eager hands carried him away, cheering all the while.

“You’re all terrible! These performances have all been shit!”

Everyone turned towards the sound of the yelling, watching as the DJ stumbled up the stairs, pushing someone else out of the way and taking the microphone they were holding.

“ _Mierda_.”

Lovino turned, startled to hear Antonio swear in Spanish. “What?’

The brunette searched around the crowd anxiously. “Where’s Gil? We need to stop Vash before—“

“I’ll show you how it’s done!’” cried the clearly inebriated DJ, taking a swig from the flask in his hand.

“Oh no.” Antonio darted towards the stairs, muttering something about a Lars and unmarked bottles.

Lovino stared at his retreating figure, wondering what had made the brunette so agitated. Before Antonio could make it to stop him, Vash gripped the microphone and…yodeled.

It wasn’t the cheesy kind of’ yodel-ay-ee-oos’ someone might try to pass off as yodeling either, it was legit sheep-herding-mountain-man-in-the-middle-of-the-Alps yodels. The audience stared, stupefied, as Antonio and Gilbert scrambled up on stage, the former prying the mic out of Vash’s hands, and the latter ushering the DJ off to the side.

“C’mon _Turmfalke_ , let’s get you some coffee, some water, maybe put down the gun and prevent any future lawsuits, yeah?” said the white haired man, sitting Vash down and moving his rifle out of reach.

“Anyway” said Antonio, trying to draw attention away from them. “I guess I’ll go next.”

Excited murmurs started up in the crowd and Lovino watched with thinly veiled interest. After standing by the laptop for a moment, the brunette seemed to change his mind, and reached behind one of the speakers, pulling out an acoustic guitar instead. Pulling the strap over his head and plucking the stings a few times to check how well it was tuned, Antonio stepped up to the microphone and smiled.

“ _Esta canción es para Lovi_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:  
> -gil and rodders were definitely doing exactly what you think they were doing before the contest.  
> -everyone refers to roderick as "die Köningin" ("the queen" in german) but they are careful not to do so in his presence since his aim is deadly. arthur is an exception since he and roderick have been friends for so long.  
> -vash's contracts always include a paid one hour break, so gil created the karaoke contest to fill in that gap. it was an instant success so it became a tradition at every pi rho omega party  
> -roderick's most memorable karaoke performance was at the very first pi rho omega he ever attended. it is also the moment that gil claims he fell in love with rodders completely  
> -if anyone can make an avril lavigne song absolutely terrifying, its liz  
> -arthur rapping eminem like nobody's business was completely sgt. coolwhip's idea and i fully endorse this headcanon  
> -the meek blonde is also exactly who you think it is  
> -francis' song selection comes courtesy of sgt (i was considering the aria from Carmen, so i decided to add that as a prior performance of francis')  
> -feiks loves Nicki Minaj and you cannot convince me otherwise  
> -the tall, silver haired guy is also exactly who you think it is (and he is definitely a Swiftie)  
> -i have a habit of making lovi have half a crush on alfred  
> -matt (freshman), ivan (junior), and alfred (freshman) are from another chapter of pi rho omega at a neighboring university. they were forced to accompany the head of said chapter, ludwig (sophmore). (but you'll learn all about them at a later time *wiggles eyebrows*)  
> -the stuff in vash's flask is lars' mystery booze. (sgt and i have a habit of using it as a catalyst in many events in this au)  
> -this is not the first time vash has yodeled at a pi rho omega function and it is not the last
> 
> translations:  
> -vamos: (spa) let's go  
> -verdammt: (ger) dammit  
> -donde has estado?: (spa) where have you been?  
> -hallo meine treuen Vogelschwarm: (ger) hello my loyal flock  
> -lang lebe der Köning!: (ger) long live the king!  
> -danke sehr!: (ger) thank you very much!  
> -sento già il bisogno di lavarmi gli occhi con la candeggina: (ita) i already feel the need to wash my eyes with bleach  
> -je peux: (fre) i can  
> -der schwarzer Schwan: (ger) the black swan  
> -s'il vous plaît: (fre) if you please  
> -bien sûr: (fre) of course  
> -cazzo, bionda: (ita) fuck, blondie  
> -królik: (pol) rabbit/bunny  
> -no, es solo que te ves tan lindo cuando te ríes: (spa) no, it's just that you look so cute/lovely when you laugh  
> -da: (rus) [written phonetically] yes  
> -mierda: (spa) shit  
> -Turmfalke: (ger) kestrel  
> -esta canción es para Lovi: (spa) this song is for Lovi
> 
> also:  
> -"Karaoke-Wettbewerb" means "karaoke contest" in German  
> -longest chapter to date woo (even if its probably because its saturated with song lyrics)  
> -in order of performance: gil sang "99 Luftballons" by Nena, rodders and gil sang "Promiscuous" by Nelly Furtado feat. Timbaland, liz sang "Girlfriend" by Avril Lavigne, arthur sang "Lose yourself" by Eminem, francis (and matt) sang "My Humps" by The Black Eyed Peas, feliks sang "Super bass" by Nicki Minaj, ivan sang "You belong with me" by Taylor Swift, and alfred sang "Wanted dead or alive" by Bon Jovi (special thanks to sgt for helping me come up with songs for everyone)  
> -i was not about to try and translate 99 Luftballons so if you really want to know what its about, google it  
> -as i mentioned before, this entire chapter was just a shameless indulgence on my part and its definitely my favorite  
> \- #noregrets  
> -as always, if anything doesnt make sense, feel welcome to drop me a review and ask!  
> -IM ALWAYS A SLUT FOR REVIEWS


	7. Let's Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the exciting conclusion!!!

“You’re shitting me.”

Deftly strumming out a few notes, Antonio leaned forward and began to sing.

[Would you dance if I asked you to dance?  
Would you run and never look back?  
Would you cry if you saw me crying?  
Would you save my soul tonight?]

Green eyes met amber and everything else in the world ceased to exist for Lovino.

[Would you tremble if I touched your lips?  
Would you laugh? Oh, please tell me this  
Now would you die for the one you love?  
Hold me in your arms, tonight]

Antonio’s voice was equal parts heavenly and downright sinful, floating through the speakers and over the crowd like a lover’s caress.

[I can be your hero, baby  
I can kiss away the pain  
I will stand by you forever  
You can take my breath away]

Lovino faintly registered the swaying of the crowd, how some people had paired up and were slow dancing along to the music, and how the gentle ebb and flow of the audience had somehow caused him to end up right next to the stage. He tried not to stare up at Antonio like a starstruck fangirl, but it was near-impossible for him to look away while that green gaze was still focused on him.

[Would you swear that you'll always be mine?  
Would you lie? Would you run and hide?  
Am I in too deep? Have I lost my mind?  
I don't care, you're here tonight]

The emotions in the brunette’s voice went beyond passionate—they were sincere and heartfelt and damn if Lovino wasn’t absolutely melting on the goddamn spot like gelato under the summer sun. The Spanish sun, he supposed.

[I can be your hero, baby  
I can kiss away the pain  
I will stand by you forever  
You can take my breath away]

Antonio sighed and smiled crookedly, his dimples standing out and giving him a bashfully boyish expression.

[Oh, I just want to hold you  
I just want to hold you, oh, yeah]

The brunette’s hands came up and held the microphone closely.

[Am I in too deep? Have I lost my mind?  
Well, I don't care, you're here tonight]

Hands falling back to the guitar, Antonio played the end of the song, eyes falling closed as he sang the last repetition of the chorus.

[I can be your hero  
I can kiss away the pain  
And I will stand by you forever  
You can take my breath away  
You can take my breath away]

Green eyes opened once more and met amber.

[I can be your hero]

After a collective dreamy sigh from the audience, everyone burst into cheers and whistles. Antonio slipped off the guitar and set it off to the side before Gilbert slid up next to him and swung an arm over his shoulders.

“Now, I don’t know about you guys, but the awesome me thinks we have a winner.”

The crowd roared in approval and the white haired man held up a hand to quiet them down.

“My thoughts exactly. So, as for your prize _mein Schwalbe_ …” Gilbert dug around the pockets of his shorts. “ _Scheiße_ , where’d I put it?”

“Um, Gil, I’m fine, really. I don’t need a prize or anything like that” said Antonio.

“ _Nein nein_. I know it’s around here—AHA!” Sticking his hand down into his shorts, the white haired man rifled around his crotch a bit before emerging with what looked to be an old-fashioned brass key with a fancy, black and white stripped ribbon tied through the top. 

“As the undisputed winner of Pi Rho Omega’s 20-or-30-somethingth Karaoke Contest , I present to you the key to the King’s Chamber, which is all yours for the next 12 hours!” announced Gilbert, holding out the prize with a flourish.

Antonio stared at it, eye twitching slightly. “Gil, _amigo_ , I love you, but I know all too well the kinds of unspeakable things that have transpired in that room, so I’m going to go ahead and respectfully decline your offer.”

Gilbert pouted and poked the brunette in the cheek with the key. “Boo, you’re no fun.”

Lovino grimaced. It really spoke volumes of their friendship that the white haired man could touch Antonio with something that had had prolonged contact with his dick without so much as phasing the brunette.

“I guess you can have the runner up prize then” said Gilbert. “If you would, _mein Singvogel_.”

Roderick walked onto the stage and handed him what looked to be a shoebox. The white haired man slipped off the lid and pulled out a silver flower crown, which he promptly placed on Antonio’s head.

“Behold, _Ihre Fürsten der Song_.” The crowd cheered and Gilbert waggled the key between his thumb and forefinger. “As for the runner up, after much deliberation, the jury has reached a unanimous decision.” He held the key out to Roderick with a bow. “ _Herzliche Glückwünsche, mein Singvogel_.”

The violet eyed man wordlessly took the key and raised an eyebrow at Gilbert before turning and walking away.

Clearing his throat loudly, the older man nodded to the audience. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have urgent business to attend to.”

Scrambling after Roderick amid a crowd full of knowing smiles and cheeky wolf whistles, Gilbert vanished. Lovino would bet his _nonna_ ’s pesto recipe that he would not be seeing either of them for the remainder of the evening. The Italian was equal parts relieved and appalled.

Vash, seemingly sobered up enough to resume his post, started up the music again—something upbeat and catchy that was giving Lovino mild flashbacks back to his awkward middle school days. He was spared from thinking too much about sticker-covered CD players and acid wash jeans by a hand closing around his elbow. The Italian turned to find Antonio beaming at him.

“ _Te gusto la canción_?”

Lovino bit back the urge to smack off the hand and run away. “Yeah. It was good.”

Green eyes watched him expectantly. “So? How about it?”

“How about what?” asked the Italian.

“Would you dance if I asked you to dance?” sung Antonio, sliding his hand down Lovino’s forearm until he could thread their fingers together.

Staring down at his feet, Lovino clenched and unclenched his jaw. He didn’t dance. He couldn’t dance. Not anymore. And just because a beautiful green eyed man sang him a goddamn song to ask him to didn’t mean he would change his mind. Because that would be dumb. It would be dumb and stupid and sappy and a very bad idea.

Pulling a pen and a gum wrapper out of his pocket, Lovino quickly scribbled something on it and folded it around a shiny, 2 euro coin. He waved over Vash and tossed him the wad with a raised eyebrow. Unwrapping it carefully, the DJ read the message and gave the Italian a curt nod, which Lovino promptly returned.

Antonio watched him, head tilted slightly in confusion. “Lovi?”

Swinging his arms above his head, Lovino stretched up and sighed when he felt his back crack. Reaching down, he touched his toes before taking a deep breath and straightening back up.

“What are you--?”

“Hold this.” The Italian swung up his leg until his foot was resting against Antonio’s shoulder and the brunette was holding his calve.

“Lovi, why--?”

Lovino let his foot drop before repeating the action with his other leg. “Because I’m drunk, not a fucking idiot.”

As he said it, the Italian realized that it was mostly untrue—he had barfed out the majority of the alcohol he drank earlier, and was more or less sober at the moment. Antonio didn’t necessarily have to know that though.

Rolling his shoulders a few more times, Lovino willed his limbs to loosen. If he was going to go through with it, he sure as hell wouldn’t do so until he was sufficiently limber. With one last neck roll, the Italian stood at starting position: back straight, feet together, arms resting at his sides.

[Music make you lose control  
Music make you lose control]

The songs that had been played so far had gotten him in a nostalgic sort of mood, so Lovino had picked the very first song he had choreographed completely on his own. It felt odd to dance again—his movements felt too stiff and his muscles ached from the unfamiliarity of the movements—but by the first verse, the Italian slowly felt himself slip into that comfortable place where he was the best. Where it was just him and the music.

[I've got a cute face  
Chubby waist  
Thick legs in shape  
Rump shaking both ways  
Make you do a double take]

Soon enough, Lovino started to feel the familiar compulsion pulling at him in the back of his mind, telling him that ‘a body roll would look better than just a hip thrust here’ and ‘if you swing your arms out then tuck them in, the momentum will carry you into the next kick’. Before the accident, the Italian would’ve followed the instinct without question, knowing that its judgment was right. But now, he felt fear laced with worry and anger. The instinct had betrayed him when he needed it most and had caused him to lose everything. Simply put, he just didn’t trust it anymore.

“Oh c’mon now, bruv. Stop ‘oldin back!”

The brash British voice brought Lovino out of his musings and caused him to miss a step. Arthur was standing—swaying—over to the side, arms crossed over his still bare chest.

“You an I bof know tha’ you can do mush bet’a tha’ that.”

Pushing his bangs out of his face, the Brit jumped in on the next verse with moves much more coordinated than his slurred speech would suggest was possible in his condition.

[Well my name is Ciara

For all you fly fellas

No one can do it better

She’ll sing on acapella]

The crowd around them started to step back to give Arthur room and Lovino ignored the small pang of envy he felt in his chest. Well, up until the Brit raised an eyebrow at him in challenge. Then all bets were off and all he felt was the overwhelming rush of competitiveness he had long forgotten how he craved. All at once, Lovino thought ‘fear be damned’ and jumped back in, listening to the instinct—and internally warning it that if it fucked him over again he was going to kill it dead.

[I rock to the beat till im tired

Walk in the club it’s fire

Get it crunk and wired

Wave your hands scream louder]

“Now tha’s whu I’m talkin’ bout!” cried Arthur, swinging around and catching Lovino by the hips. The Italian followed suit and twined his arms around the blonde’s neck.

[Take somebody by the waist then uh

Now throw it in they face like uh

Hypnotic robotic

This here will rock your bodies]

Arthur spun him around so Lovino’s back pressed into his front, and the Italian obliged by moving his hips and grinding his ass back just shy of obscenely.

[Take somebody by the waist then uh

Now throw it in they face like uh

Systematica static

This hit be automatic]

Before the song could even get to the next verse, someone grabbed Lovino by the hand and pulled him forward, while Arthur let out a yelp and tumbled back.

“What the fuck?!” cried the Italian when he bumped up against a firm chest.

Antonio steadied him and smiled apologetically. “Mind if I cut in?”

Lovino stared at him flatly. “You kind of already did.”

“I guess so” said the brunette, giving a small, one shoulder shrug. “You two looked like you were having fun though, so I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“Jealous?” asked Lovino, trying to be flirty and failing miserably because come on, there was no way—

Antonio leaned forward until his lips brushed against the Italian’s ear. “ _Como ni te imaginas_.”

Lovino froze and didn’t even notice the music had changed until the brunette stepped back and held out a hand.

Smiling softly, Antonio asked him to dance once more, and this time, instead of running away, Lovino took his hand and said yes.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a few things:  
> -toño is self-taught on the guitar  
> -he has also won every phi rho omega karaoke contest he's participated in because his voice is fucking magical  
> -the King's Chamber is the master suite, located on the second floor of the frat house. it has been the setting for a myriad of examples of teenage debauchery, but those are stories for another time.  
> -the runner up flower crown comes courtesy of Ivan, which is a floral design major.  
> -when drunk, arthur's accent turns a near indecipherable shade of cockney
> 
> translations:  
> -mein Schwalbe: (ger) my swallow  
> -amigo: (spa) friend  
> -Ihre Fürsten der Song: (ger) your prince of song  
> -Herzliche Glückwünsche: (ger) congratulations  
> -nonna: (ita) grandmother/grandma  
> -Te gusto la canción?: (spa) did you like the song?  
> -Como ni te imaginas: (spa) like you wouldn't imagine
> 
> also:  
> -chapter title taken from the david bowie song by the same name. may he forever dance among the stars.  
> -toño serenading lovi gives me so much life  
> -the song he sings is "hero" by enrique iglesias (because enrique is bae and also the song fits their situation sooo well)  
> -the song lovi dances to is "lose control" by missy eliott feat. ciara (fun fact: i actually considered this song to be lovi's trigger song, but decided it would make a much better comeback song)  
> -i wrote lovi and arthur's dance as a parallel to francis and arthur's dance in TROF, right up to the way they were pulled apart, so if you noticed a similarity, believe me it was intentional.  
> -alas, this is the end for this story, but fret not dear readers for a small epilogue is on its way. eventually.  
> -sgt. requested some spamano smut and i couldnt find out how to fit it into the story so im squeezing it into an epilogue  
> -idk how long it'll take because i tend to drag ass when writing smut, but stay tuned!  
> -as always, if anything doesnt make sense, feel welcome to drop me a review and ask!  
> -IM ALWAYS A SLUT FOR REVIEWS

**Author's Note:**

> a few things:  
> -lovi and feliks are totes bffls and you cannot convince me otherwise (and yes, it was lovi that bought feliks the infamous spikes that appear in TROF)  
> -feli and lovi are freshmen, feliks and toris are sophmores, roderick is a senior (and feli, lovi, and toris' Resident Assistant), and gilbert is a grad student (and feliks and lovi's Teaching Assistant for their Chem 101 class)  
> -feli and lovi dorm together  
> -i have a penchant for making characters giant tragic dorks
> 
> translations:  
> -mi dispiace: (ita) i'm sorry, forgive me  
> -porca miseria: (ita) damnit  
> -blizniaki: (pol) twins  
> -ecco la bionda: (ita) here's the blonde  
> -ciao: (ita) hi  
> -czesc kochanie: (pol) hello sweetheart  
> -kurwa: (pol) bitch  
> -ja pierdole: (pol) oh fuck  
> -Spierdalaj: (pol) fuck off  
> -ty dzinko: (pol) you bitch  
> -allora vattene: (ita) now leave  
> -vuoi un piano? ecco un piano: (ita) you want a plan? here's a plan  
> -e come parlare con un muro: (ita) it's like talking with a wall  
> -tak bardzo Cie nienawidze: (pol) i hate you so much  
> -anch'io ti voglio bene, bionda: (ita) i love you too, blondie  
> -fratello: (ita) brother
> 
> also:  
> "non voglio" means "i dont want to" in italian, and "perche" means "why." so yeah, there's the first chapter of that. if you have any questions, comments, concerns, or anything of the like, please feel free to drop a review (i live off those things)  
> see y'all next thursday ;3


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